iVcrt/VWx.  Tnrv' 
Y\s&yv\^ 


(2C^ 


««».  UBJUJffl,   MS 


Squaw  Elouise 


By 

Marah  Ellis  Ryan. 


Chicago  and  New  York: 
Rand,  McNally  &  Company, 

Publishers. 


COPYRIGHT,  1892,  BY  RAND,  MCNALLY  &  Co 
All  Rights  Reserved. 


Eloulse 


"WHOM  THE  GODS  LOVE, 

This  to  the  loved  memory  of 

Our  Friend, 
"SIR  KNIGHT," 
and  the  dear  days  of  which  he  was  a 

AUGUST  17,  1891, 


KNOWN  TO   HIS  BROTHERS   IN  ART 
AS 

ALDRICH    KNIGHT, 

ACTOR. 


2138107 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.  Camp  Diversions,  9 

II.  A  Game,  -  19 

III.  A  Letter,      -  -     28 

IV.  The  Lakes  of  the  Arrows,  34 
V.  Past  the  Pictured  Rocks,      -  -43 

VI.  Redney's  Visitor,      -                          •  52 

VII.  Family  Folks  in  High-Low,  -        -     63 

VIII.  Ikt  Elite  (One  Slave),  -         70 

IX.  You  Sold  Me!       -  -     79 

X.  In  the  Fort  of  the  Unnamed  Nation,        -         89 

XI.  The  Picture  in  the  Locket,  -  -  107 

XII.  High-Low  Reformed,       -  -        -       118 

XIII.  Mr.  Clevents  Takes  Notes,    -  -127 

XIV.  Her  Mother's  Story,  -       146 
XV.  Her  Songs,  -  156 

XVI.  A  Priest  of  the  Wilds,       -  171 

XVII.  In  the  Home  of  the  White  Women,      -        -176 

XVIII.  Warnings  of  the  Heights,  -       185 

XIX.  A  Black  Robe,     -  -  188 

XX.  The  Gentleman  from  Washington,  -       194 

XXI.  Above  the  Clouds,  -  204 

XXII.  Henri  Mercier,  -       211 

XXIII.  filouise,       -  -   221 

XXIV.  On  Thunder  Mountain,   -  -       233 

XXV.  Back  to  the  World, 237 


SQUAW    ELOUISE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CAMP   DIVERSIONS. 

THE  soft  kisses  of  spring-time  winds  along  the  Columbia 
had  melted  the  last  fringe  of  ice  from  brooks  and  rivers, 
bound  so  tightly  by  the  winter  past;  now  and  then  the  far 
thunder  of  avalanches  in  the  Selkirks  beat  through  the 
softened  air,  and  told  of  changes  in  the  snow  king's 
domains  up  there  in  high  ravines,  whose  shadows  show  so 
soft  a  violet  above  the  clouds. 

Where  Tumwata  Creek  (the  creek  of  the  Cascades)  joins 
the  River  Columbia,  between  Farwell  and  the  Rapids  of 
Death,  the  Indians  of  old  pulled  ashore  their  dug-outs  or 
"  garpoint  "  canoes,  and  made  themselves  a  camp  for  their 
hunting  season.  Sometimes  they  brought  with  them  their 
good  friends,  the  French,  who  trapped  and  hunted  in  the 
same  region,  and  took  to  themselves  wives  in  the  Indian 
villages  south  of  the  Arrow  lakes.  Sometimes,  too,  those 
adopted  children  of  the  tribes  learned  secrets  of  the  soil 
and  of  wondrous  metals  hidden  beneath  the  crust  of  the 
Gold  Range  and  the  Selkirk  Spurs. 

In  time,  those  hidden  magnets  of  the  mountains  were 
heard  of  in  the  eastern  provinces  and  on  the  Pacific  Coast, 
and  strange  motley  assemblies  moved  upward  on  the  water, 

(9) 


10  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

pitching  their  tents  through  the  short  summer  wherever  a 
show  of  color  bewitched  them. 

And  so,  when  the  mine  called  the  Little  Rock  was  struck, 
only  a  few  miles  above,  and  sold  to  a  speculator  of  the 
States,  who  changed  the  name  to  the  Little  Dell,  and  also 
sent  an  engineer  to  push  the  work — when  all  these  interest- 
ing things  came  to  pass,  the  site  of  the  old  Indian  resting- 
place  was  settled  on  as  a  good  social  center  for  the  workers 
of  independent  claims,  as  well  as  those  from  the  big  mine, 
and  the  traveler  passing  up  and  down  their  only  thorough- 
fare to  the  outer  world. 

A  half-dozen  cabins  were  scattered  in  a  straggling  line 
along  the  foot  of  the  hill,  facing  the  creek.  Some  of  them 
were  a  year  old,  others  of  more  recent  structure;  only  one 
had  the  bark  stripped  from  the  logs  by  wind  and  weather. 
It  had  been  the  germ  of  High-Low.  It  was  said  the 
Indians  had  so  named  the  camp  after  watching  with  much 
interest  a  fascinating  game  with  which  the  earliest  miners  from 
the  States  had  begun  their  evenings.  They  had  also  consci- 
entiously added  "  Jack  and  the  Game,"  but  the  name  seemed 
top-heavy  for  the  size  of  the  bearer,  and  only  the  first  two 
words  were  adopted  by  the  citizens  of  the  sylvan  hamlet — 
not  exactly  the  peace-begirt  abode  of  innocence,  as  one  is 
likely  to  suppose  a  hamlet  should  be,  if  we  could  judge 
from  the  life  lived  there  between  the  last  of  May  and  the 
first  of  November.  During  the  other  months  travel  was  a 
difficult  matter,  and  labor  was  at  a  standstill  until  the  warm 
sun  came  again. 

Now  the  warm  sun  had  arrived  for  its  season,  and  its 
coming  had  steeped  the  silent  valley  of  the  Tumwata  in 
the  spring  fever  of  June. 

From  one  long  log  building — the  beginning  of  High- 
Low — arose  the  only  signs  of  activity.  It  was  the  store- 
house, the  saloon,  the  trading-post,  and  the  hotel  for  as 


CAMP   DIVERSIONS.  11 

many  as  could  sleep  on  the  floor  and  the  tables.  It  was 
also  the  place  where  the  mail  was  to  be  found,  if  any  came 
up  through  Farwell  in  semi-periodical  dug-outs. 

An  inviting  legend  for  time-killers  was  displayed  in  crude 
lettering  outside  the  door,  while  from  within  was  heard  the 
sound  of  several  voices,  and  fervent  prayers  arose  to  a  god 
not  "  too  great  or  good  for  human  nature's  daily  food," 
as  several  participants  in  itloktim  — the  game  of  "  hand  " — 
seemed  to  look  on  him  as  a  silent  partner  in  their  gambling, 
and  would  demand,  with  slight  ceremony,  blessings  on  one 
fellow's  luck,  or  the  ban  of  damnation  on  the  chances  of 
the  other  fellow. 

The  shadows  grew  longer,  and  the  straggly  settlement 
seemed  to  arise  toward  the  dark  instead  of  the  dawn. 
Some  miners  came,  riding  mules  helter-skelter  through  the 
little  stream;  some  half-breed  women  of  unhandsome  ex- 
terior, and  no  lack  of  dirt  on  their  apparel,  thrust  their 
heads  from  one  shanty  sleepily,  and  grinned  and  grimaced 
at  the  new  arrivals  in  a  manner  particularly  inviting,  for 
which  they  received  some  remarks  more  forcible  than  flat- 
tering, and  which  spoke  little  for  the  gallantry  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, since  they  were  at  present  the  only  located 
residents  of  the  gentle  sex  that  the  little  outpost  could 
boast  of. 

Two  young  men  walked  together  away  from  the 
"  hotel."  One  of  them  halted  as  they  reached  the  rise  of  the 
mountain — a  boyish  chap,  with  the  bronze  of  red  blood  in 
his  cheeks,  but  with  curly  hair. 

"  Dang  it,  Milt,  I've  a  notion  to  go  back!  " 

"I  won't,"  decided  "Milt,"  moodily— "  if  I  do  I'll  get 
drunk;  I  feel  like  cutting  the  whole  country  an'  getting  back 
East." 

"Oh,  pshaw!  she's  all  right,  you  bet!"  answered  the 
other,  hopefully;  "  that  last  letter  she  sent  was  slow  comin! 


12  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

but  it  got  here.  Now  don't  get  off  yer  feed  just  account  o* 
missin'  a  letter  one  mail — it'll  come  next  one." 

"  May  be  she's  sick — or  else  the  baby." 

"Naw!  you'd  get  telegraphed  instead  of  wrote  if  it  was 
that.  Now  quit  a  frettin',  you  old  fool,  Milt.  Why  that  young 
man'll  jest  come  trampin'  into  the  shack  some  o'  these 
odd-come-shorts  a  packin'  his  mammy's  duds  on  his  back. 
How  much  you  say  he  weighed?  " 

The  question  was  asked  as  if  entire  forgetfulness  had 
swept  that  important  amount  from  his  mind,  and  Milt  took 
from  his  pocket  a  much-read  letter  and  for  the  hundredth 
time  told  the  story. 

"Nine  pounds  and  seven  ounces,  Redney;  that's  some- 
thing of  a  baby  now! " 

"  An'  nigh  three  months  old.  He  ought  to  double  his 
weight  in  that  time  if  he's  any  good,"  said  Redney,  "an* 
be  able  to  strike  the  beam  at  twenty  by  the  time  he  hits  the 
breeze  of  our  ledge." 

"  Poor  little  Nannie — it's  a  rough  place  to  ask  her  to  fol- 
low a  man,"  and  the  speaker  turned  and  looked  down  into 
the  ravine  where  the  shanties  were.  "  If  there  was  even 
one  white  woman — one  decent  woman — in  the  place,  it 
wouldn't  be  so  bad;  but  the  cursed  squaws — " 

" Say,  did  you  spot  the  ' princess?'     She's  back." 

"Yes;  saw  her  feet  sticking  out  of  a  blanket.  I  suppose 
she  is  drunk  there  at  Antoine's  place;  but  I  didn't  see  the 
girl." 

"Sold  her,  may  be,"  hazarded  Redney.  "  The  'princess' 
is  of  that  stripe,  I  reckon.  Yet  do  you  know  these  scrub 
Indians  treat  that  old  hag  better  than  they  do  each  other. 
I  got  the  word  from  a  Selkirk  man  that  they  say  she  is  of 
their  old  king  blood.  It's  been  many  a  year,  I  guess,  since 
they  had  a  kingdom." 

"  Her  only  idea  of  a  scepter  is  a  whisky-bottle,"  returned 


CAMP    DIVERSIONS.  13 

the  older  man.  "  I  can't  discover  any  royal  traits  in  either 
her  or  that  owl-eyed  slip  of  a  girl  that  used  to  loaf  around 
here  with  her." 

"  She  could  fight  royally  if  you  riled  her,"  grinned  the  boy. 

«  Yes — say,  was  that  Neil  Dunbar  who  rode  in  with  that 
gang  from  the  mine?  He  looked  as  if  he  had  an  outfit  with 
him.  Reckon  he's  going  to  pull  up  stakes?" 

"  Hard  tellin';  an'  you  come  trampin'  away  in  such  a  fit 
o'  cranks  that  I  didn't  get  to  see  anyone  or  anything." 

"  Oh,  shut  your  growling  and  go  back  if  you've  a  mind 
to,  you  kid!  "  said  his  friend  good-naturedly.  "  You  always 
want  to  see  the  circus  and  the  band-wagon  go  past." 

"  I'd  like  to  have  as  good  a  berth  as  Dunbar's  leavin' 
behind  him  if  he  is  bound  for  across  the  line;"  and  Redney's 
tones  were  covetous. 

"  May  be  he's  got  a  wife  left  in  the  settlements,"  suggested 
Milt,  with  a  ready  reason  for  a  man  leaving  the  hills. 

"  Naw;  he  don't  look  noways  married,"  decided  Redney, 
"an'  he's  too  light-hearted." 

And  with  that  unconscious  plea  for  celibacy  he  went 
upward  through  the  giant  spruces  beside  the  man  whose 
thoughts  and  longings  were  away  in  the  East,  held  by  the 
tiny  hands  of  a  child  unseen,  and  centered  in  the  wish  for 
the  little  wife  he  had  come  to  find  wealth  for.  Redney 
was  right,  may  be.  The  husband  carried  no  such  light  heart 
as  the  bachelor's  left  behind  there.  Love  levies  heavy 
taxes  on  his  subjects,  taxes  paid  with  aching  hearts  often, 
even  while  one  strives  through  blinding  tears  to  follow  in 
the  way  he  has  gone — He ! — the  king  supreme — in  his  season. 

But  down  below  there  the  care-free  ones  were  growing 
gently  hilarious  in  the  near  death  of  the  day,  for  the  sun 
was  going  down,  slipping  over  toward  the  Coast  Range  and 
thence  over  the  gray  sea  to  the  abode  of  far-off  mysteries — 
the  land  of  the  Orient. 


14  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

So  boisterous  did  they  become  that  even  the  castle  of 
Antoine  proved  all  too  small  for  their  needs,  and  a  mummy- 
like  form  in  a  blanket  was  rolled  off  a  bench  just  outside 
the  door  that  the  wearied  might  find  rest  by  turning  it  to 
their  own  use,  which  they  did,  resting  themselves  in  repose- 
ful attitudes  and  betting  on  what  would  emerge  from  the 
blanket. 

Some  grunted  oaths  came  first — Chinook  oaths,  varied 
and  awful. 

"Hello!  it's  the  princess,"  admonished  one  of  the 
accursed  with  a  most  earnest'air  of  surprise.  "  Gentlemen, 
you  have  mistaken  your  party.  You  fancied  it  some  scrub 
Siwash  on  a  drunk,  while  it  is  really  a  princess  of  the  blood 
royal  sunk  in  a  reverie.  You  should  all  get  down  on  your 
bended  knees,  but  I'm  afraid  you're  too  drunk  to  get  up 
again,  so  if  your  gracious  highness  will  pardon — " 

Her  gracious  highness  scrambled  to  a  sitting  position  in 
the  dust  of  the  road,  and  turned  eyes  blearedly  diabolical 
up  to  the  mocking  face  that  was  so  handsome. 

"You?    Diaub—lalah!    Nah!"   (devil— fool). 

"  Come,  come,  my  princess,  Talapus,  your  deity,  has  sent 
you  a  bad  dream.  Yes,  it  is  I  come  back  to  see  you.  Will 
we  drink? " 

"Klatawah!" 

"  Go  away?    No — no;  lum  have,  much  lum  "  (rum). 

The  lady  in  the  road  grunted. 

"  Luketchee  (clams)  many,"  he  continued  enticingly. 

And  finally,  after  several  persuasions,  the  royal  person- 
age, La  Mestina  (the  one  of  medicines  or  charms),  by 
descent  the  princess,  slipped  out  of  her  blanket  and,  in  the 
face  of  many  grins,  slouched  in  to  the  counter  at  the  heels 
of  the  handsomest  man  in  the  diggings. 

"Lord — lord!  but  she's  gone  down,"  remarked  Bob 
Nichols,  the  mail-carrier  and  courier  in  general  for  the  valley. 


CAMP  DIVERSIONS.  15 

"Only  ten  years  ago  that  old  bloat  wa'n't  far  off  bein* 
good-lookin'— come  nigher  to  it  than  any  squaws  I  see. 
Reub  Hart — he  owned  her.  He  came  out  o'  the  Palouse 
country.  That  girl  that  she  has  is  his,  an'  he  used  to  keep 
them  pretty  decent.  Then  he  reformed  an'  married  a 
widder  down  in  the  States,  an'  shuffled  the  squaw  off  his 
hands,  an'  La  Mestina  has  took  whisky  for  her  medicine 
ever  since;  an'  I  allow  the  young  one  does  too." 

"  Naw!  "  contradicted  a  rather  thick  tongue;  "  that  brat 
works  an'  grubs  around  like  a  boy — fights  like  one  too — but 
no  rum." 

And  then  polite  conversation  having  become  uninterest- 
ing and  dry,  the  bench  was  gradually  forsaken — by  some 
for  supper,  by  others  for  the  temptations  under  the  roof  of 
Antoine. 

It  was  yet  forsaken  when,  through  the  sunset  light,  a 
form  came  down  the  valley  that  looked  strangely  out  of 
place  in  the  noise  of  carousal  and  rough  words — a  tall  form, 
with  a  semi-Indian  face,  and  wearing  the  dress  of  a  priest. 

The  tousle-headed  half-breed  women  drew  within  their 
doors  as  he  approached.  One  or  two  men  he  spoke  to, 
calling  them  by  name.  One  of  them,  a  Canadian-French- 
man, greeted  him  as  Brother  Henri,  and  a  certain  air  of 
respect  tinged  the  manner  of  the  people  he  met,  possibly 
induced  by  the  office  he  filled,  but  more  probably  by  the 
athletic  frame,  as  straight,  as  vigorous  as  the  giant  spruces 
whose  murmurs  had  been  his  cradle-song. 

Much  of  the  "  native  "  seemed  expressed  by  the  very  way 
he  trod  the  earth  and  received  greetings  from  those  alien 
wealth-seekers.  At  the  door  of  Antoine's  he  paused, 
checked  by  a  movement  and  a  low  "winipie!"  the  Indian 
boy  who  followed  him  with  a  pony,  and,  leaving  them 
there,  entered  alone  the  building  containing  as  much  of 
lawlessness  as  is  generally  gathered  together  on  the  frontier. 


16  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

Not  that  the  proprietor  was  rough  or  lawless  himself. 
His  smile,  as  he  came  forward  to  greet  "  Mon  ami — Fra 
Henri"  was  the  smile  of  a  courtier — impressive,  flattering, 
and  flattered. 

But  the  French  blood  of  Fra  Henri  had  lent  him  little  of 
its  urbane  camaraderie.  Briefly  as  an  Indian  he  cut  through 
those  conciliating  utterances. 

"No,  Antoine,  no  wine;  nothing  from  you  for  myself; 
but  over  the  hills  there — far  back — disease  is  loose,  borne 
on  the  winds.  I  want  medicines  of  these,"  and  he  motioned 
to  some  glass  jars  that  filled  the  apothecary-shelf  of  the 
establishment,  "  and  rum — the  best.  We  go  at  once." 

"Ah!  but  it  is  all  of  one  pity!  It  is  weeks,  whole  weeks, 
since  you  have  once  made  entrance  to  our  valley,  and  now 
you  go  in  the  great  haste,  and  never  await  the  suppair,  the 
fete,  if  you  but  will,  that  I,  Antoine  Leclerc,  so  long  your 
friend,  would  be  proud  to  offer." 

"  The  people — my  people — await  across  the  mountain  the 
medicines;  "  and  Antoine,  never  ceasing  his  chattering,  com- 
plied at  once  with  the  order  in  the  tone  and  gathered 
together  the  articles  needed  as  they  were  pointed  out  to  him. 

"  Your  people — ah!  you  say  so;  that  is  your  pity  for 
them;  out,  it  is  gracious,  that  pity.  But  we  are  of  your 
people  also — yes,  much,  mon  ami.  You  are  of  the  French 
fere  more  than  of  the  Indian  mbre — certain,  unmistakable — 
I  tell  it  to  you — I,  who  have  so  well  been  acquaint  with  you 
for  the  years — out,  oui — the  years  before  the  church — the 
saints  guard! — did  claim-  to  you — the  years  before  you  did 
leave  the  wayhut  et  lapiege  (the  trail  and  the  trap) ;  and  I, 
Antoine — " 

"I  do  not  forget — you  are  of  my  father's  race — yes, 
may  be;  but  the  mother's  race  needs  me — " 

He  interrupted  himself  at  sight  of  a  figure  in  the  far  cor- 
ner who  blinked  at  him  with  heavy,  stupid  eyes.  It  was 


CAMP    DIVERSIONS.  17 

the  "  princess,"  enthroned  on  a  box  which  was  nailed  about 
five  feet  from  the  floor,  too  far  from  it  for  her  to  attempt 
a  descent  in  her  present  rather  hazy  condition,  and  totally 
deserted  by  the  courtiers  who  had  enthroned  her  there;  and 
over  their  heads  and  across  the  gambling-table  she  was 
leering  at  Fra  Henri. 

"La  Mestina!  " — and  the  dark  face  of  the  priest  grew 
stern — "here" — and  his  keen  eyes  swept  every  corner  of 
the  long  room  as  if  in  search  of  some  other.  "  I  thought 
she  was  in  the  south  hills." 

"Until  to-day — only  to-day,"  explained  Antoine,  "and 
then  she  come — what  you  call  with  your  people — klahowyum 
(poor,  miserable);  now  she  rest — she  refresh  herself ;  you 
see?" 

Fra  Henri  did.  He  had  seen  before  his  informant  ceased 
speaking  and  had  crossed  the  room. 

"Where  is  F^louise? "  he  asked  the  enthroned,  and  she 
turned  her  eyes  drowsily  around  the  place. 

"  Wakeyakwa"  (not  here),  she  answered  a  bit  sullenly, 
as  if  not  pleased  with  the  fact  stated. 

A  look  of  relief  lit  up  the  man's  face;  drove  some  of  the 
sternness  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  That  is  right,  La  Mestina;  never,  never  here.  You  under- 
stand? And  you  too  should  go  back  to  the  hills — they  are 
best." 

"Ugh!"  and  the  lady  on  the  box  straightened  up 
angrily  and  then  collapsed,  muttering  in  Chinook,  "  For 
dogs  and  priests,  may  be;  I  am  princess." 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  listen  to  me.  You  remember  when 
we  talked  last;  it  was  of  FJouise  and  the  church.  She  is 
almost  a  woman  now,  and  must  no  longer  do  work,  as  she 
used  to  do,  for  the  miners  and  men  here.  She  was  a  child 
then,  but  now — .  In  our  convent  across  the  mountain  there 
is  room  for  her;  when  is  she  to  go  to  it? " 

2 


18  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

The  "  princess  "  understood,  and  leered  good-humoredly 
at  the  earnest  face. 

"  If  you,  Henri,  son  of  Mercier  the  Frenchman,  had  not 
covered  yourself  with  the  dress  of  a  squaw,  you  would  find 
other  place  for  a  girl  than  with  the  black  robes;  your  father 
knew  better.  How  much  money  you  carry? " 

He  smiled  a  little,  showing  her  an  empty  purse;  Antoine 
had  received  its  contents. 

"  Then  go  your  ways,"  and  she  kicked  at  him  inef- 
fectually; "go  to  your  prayers.  If  the  church  wants 
^Ilouise,  it  is  rich,  it  can  pay.  If  you  want  her — " 

"We  never  buy  con  verts — we  win  them,"  he  interrupted; 
and  she  grinned. 

"Well,  I'll  sell  you  a  chance  to  win  her  for  tahla  "  (dol- 
lar), she  said,  and  looked  pleased  as  his  face  paled. 

"  I  will  talk  to  her,  not  you,"  he  said,  sternly;  "not  now. 
I  go  to  the  sick,  where  you  should  go  too — you  were  of 
Lames  tin  (medicine)  once;  and  to  the  child  I  will  talk  when 
this  work  is  done." 

The  princess  nodded  grotesquely,  like  some  grinning 
Indian  devil  enthroned  there. 

"  Mika  klap  elip  yahka"  (you'll  find  her  first),  she  mut- 
tered, and  sat  looking  contemplatively  after  the  p'riest  as 
he  followed  Antoine  out  of  the  door  where  the  pony  was 
being  loaded  with  his  purchases;  and  ere  the  dusk  had 
quite  fallen  he  had  left  the  dust  of  High-Low,  and  plunged 
into  the  spruce  along  the  trail,  shadowy  and  odorous. 

And  then  the  ruminations  of  the  princess  found  vent  in 
a  series  of  short,  sharp  squalls,  through  which  the  habitues 
tried  to  continue  their  amusements  and  failed.  Some  sul- 
phurous remarks  were  flung  at  her,  but  they  checked  not 
a  particle  the  din  she  was  raising.  The  princess  wanted  to 
get  down,  and  depended  on  her  musical  voice  to  accom- 
plish her  desires. 


A    GAME.  10 

It  did.  The  handsome  young  fellow  who  had  coaxed  her 
in  staggered  to  his  feet  (the  him  glasses  had  been  filled  so 
many  times),  and  staggered  more  under  the  royal  weight 
as  he  lifted  her  to  the  floor. 

"  You're  a  nice  little  woman,  princess,"  he  remarked, 
with  much  of  reverie  and  more  of  sleepiness  in  his  eyes; 
"  but  I  never  am  able  to  doubt  the  reality  of  a  personal 
devil  when  you're  around.  Now  dear  out!  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    GAME. 

Two  hours  later  the  curly-haired  Redney  proved  his 
partner's  truth  by  again  slipping  down  to  High-Low  to  see 
all  of  the  crowd  or  commotion  near  their  hill  life.  But 
used  as  he  was  to  unusual  things,  he  gave  a  whistle  of  sur- 
prise at  the  scene  before  him. 

The  princess  had  not  gone  far  when  dismissed — not  so 
far  but  that  she  had  already  returned,  and  beside  her  a  girl 
with  the  Indian  color  showing  through  her  face,  and  the 
face  itself,  and  the  eyes  of  it,  darkened  and  flashing  with  a 
pent-up  fury. 

"  Ikt  tahla!  "  (one  dollar),  the  princess  was  saying,  and 
then  Redney  saw  a  drunken  miner  leer  at  the  girl,  and  lay 
a  round  silver  dollar  in  the  hand  of  the  princess  in  exchange 
for  a  slip  of  paper  drawn  from  a  covered  box.  Several 
slips  of  paper  were  held  in  the  fingers  of  men  who  were 
laughing,  and  as  many  tahlas  reposed  in  the  brown  hand  of 
the  princess. 


20  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"  And  why  not,"  smiled  Antoine  to  Redney's  amazed 
questioning  of  this  new  trick  of  gambling.  "What  man 
here  would  give  to  the  girl  a  harder  life  than  to  live  with 
the  princess?  It  is  so  I  look,  it  is  so  I  make  decision  in  my 
mind,  when  they  did  speak  of  the  raffle — and  you  see? " 

Antoine  himself  held  one  of  the  small  numbered  slips. 
It  was  not  the  first  squaw  the  boy  had  seen  sold  or  traded 
— life  on  the  North  Pacific  Slope  holds  many  such  revela- 
tions; but  his  young  face  flushed  as  he  met  the  eyes  of 
the  girl  who  stood  in  that  circle  of  half-drunken  exiles 
from  civilization — a  young  slave  questioning  mutely  the 
faces  among  which  was  one  who  would  claim  her  as  master. 
And  among  them  all,  not  one  sober  enough  to  appeal  to 
— if  appeal  was  in  her  thoughts. 

Redney  did  not  know,  but  he  wished  he  knew  how  many 
chances  there  were  and  he  had  money  enough  to  cover 
them,  but  he  could  not.  House-furnishing  takes  money, 
and  many  resplendent  things  in  their  shack  had  been 
bought  by  Redney  in  honor  of  that  wife  and  babe  belong- 
ing to  his  partner.  Two  dollars  were  all  that  jingled  in 
his  pocket;  and,  shamed  though  he  felt,  they  were  added  to 
the  store  of  La  Mestina,  who  grunted  and  laughed  as  she 
looked  at  the  boy  blushing  so  furiously. 

"  Hello,  Hop-o-my-thumb!  you  dealing  in  live-stock 
these  days? "  hiccoughed  a  big  giant  of  a  miner  good- 
naturedly.  "  But  that's  all  right,  sonny;  put  up  your 
money  like  a  little  man,  and  then,"  he  added,  "  may  be 
you'll  get  her;  luck  generally  does  go  to  just  such  pretty- 
faced  whipper-snappers  where  women  are  concerned.  But 
I'm  your  friend,  my  boy,  I'm — " 

Then  sleep  tied  his  tongue,  while  Redney  edged  out  of 
the  crowd,  and  heard  the  princess  call  "  High-yih!  "  as  she 
spied,  over  the  heads  of  the  others,  the  tall  young  fellow 
who  bade  her  "  clear  out  "  not  so  long  before. 


A   GAME.  21 

With  the  lateness  of  the  evening  his  face  had  gained  an 
added  flush,  and  was  a  marked  contrast  to  a  quiet-looking, 
pale-faced  man  who  came  in  with  him,  and  who  had  drank 
only  mild  drinks,  while  lum  was  the  standard  drink  for  th» 
rest  of  the  crowd. 

He  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  other  as  the 
princess  called. 

"You  don't  want  any  of  that,  Dunbar,"  he  said  con- 
temptuously. "  A  squaw  up  for  sale — keep  clear  of  the 
case;  and  if  we're  to  finish  that  game — " 

"Oh,  see  here,  this  isn't  a  squaw;  it's  little  squaw 
^Ilouise,  my  errand-boy  long  ago." 

And  then  he  pushed  through  the  crowd;  and  Redney, 
seeing  the  girl's  face  brighten,  her  eyes  shine  as  with  glad- 
ness, looked  for  the  reason.  He  saw  only  the  cool-eyed 
gambler,  who  was  a  stranger  to  him,  and  Neil  Dunbar, 
laughing  and  victorious  over  a  late  game,  and  heartlessly 
jocular  over  La  Mestina's  method  of  disposing  of  her  family. 

"  Hi!  you  old  Indian  witch,  what  devilment  is  it  you  want 
my  help  in — to  buy  a  ticket?  How  many  you  got?  And 
you,  you  young  slip  of  royalty,  is  it  you  that  is  to  be 
the  prize?  That's  droll.  Why,  it  was  only  yesterday  yon  ran 
errands  and  blacked  my  boots — or  was  it  last  year?  You've 
grown  taller,  anyway — a  dollar's  worth  taller?" 

But  he  bought  the  ticket,  the  only  one  left.  The  girl 
had  not  answered  his  greeting,  but  turned  away  her  face 
— a  bit  of  possible  sulkiness  that  angered  the  princess,  who 
caught  her  and  attempted  to  twist  her  head  around  to  the 
gaze  of  the  audience;  and  in  the  scowling  resistance,  the 
poor  oVess  she  wore  was  torn — stripped  from  one  shoulder 
and  arm,  showing  the  creamy  skin  and  girlish  form  to  the 
waist — an  accident  that  restored  the  maudlin  good-humor 
of  the  princess,  who  laughed.  Most  of  the  others  were  too 
tipsy  to  comment;  but  the  gambler  noted  the  two  tickets 
in  Redney 's  fingers. 


22  SQUAW   £  LOUISE. 

"  Say,  young  fellow,"  he  said,  carelessly,  "  I'll  just  take 
those  tickets  off  your  hands,  and  double  your  money  for 
your  bargain." 

The  young  fellow  looked  into  the  speculative  eyes  that 
rested  on  the  girl,  who  was  striving  to  re-adjust  the  rags 
over  the  arm  that  was  less  thin  and  sinewy  than  that  of  the 
average  Indian. 

"  The  tickets  ain't  for  sale,"  he  growled. 

"  Give  you  five  apiece  for  them." 

"You  couldn't  buy  them  for  a  hundred;"  and  Redney 
turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away.  The  gambler  and 
himself  were  the  only  sober  men  in  the  place,  and  the  boy 
was  ashamed  of  the  whole  scene.  He  was  half  angry,  too, 
at  the  eager  way  in  which  the  girl  filouise  watched  Neil 
Dunbar,  though  she  did  not  speak  to  him. 

Neil  Dunbar — "  Gentleman  Neil,"  as  he  had  heard  him 
called — handsome,  good-natured,  charming;  a  man  whom 
men  liked  and  women  loved,  and  for  what?  Few  were  the 
people  to  whom  he  had  ever  been  of  actual  benefit  in  life; 
yet  the  frank  gaze  of  his  blue-gray  eyes,  or  the  clasp  of  his 
hand,  had  won  him  many  a  friend;  the  caressing  tendencies 
of  his  voice,  and  a  few  non-committal  whispers,  had  won 
him  many  a  love.  But  to  none  did  he  seem  bound  closely, 
since  for  over  a  year  he  had  lived  in  the  Chinook  region. 
With  the  crowd  sometimes,  when  the  isolated  life  would 
make  lum  a  temptation,  but  not  of  them  at  other  times, 
keeping  ever  that  little  line  drawn  that  marks  the  man  of 
opportunities  from  the  unlearned  mass,  but  doing  it  in  so 
gracious  a  way  that  never  an  enemy  was  made,  only  the 
sobriquet  of  "  gentleman  "  given  him  and  glances  won, 
such  as  irritated  Redney  as  he  looked  at  the  girl  filouise. 

"  Hang  it!  she's  no  better  than  the  rest,  may  be,"  and  he 
looked  discontentedly  at  the  tickets  that  bespoke  two 
chances  for  her  among  twenty-five;  "and  that  Dunbar's 
half -shot  now.  Pshaw!  she  deserves  to  be  sold." 


A  GAME.  23 

An  un-Indian-like  eagerness  filled  the  girl's  manner, 
though  she  said  never  a  word,  as  Antoine  held  one  num- 
bered slip  in  his  hand  and  the  other  buyers  thrust  theirs 
forward  for  comparison,  the  mate  of  the  numbered  ticket 
winning  the  prize. 

"  I  myself  have  not  got  it,  not  so  near  as  ten  numbers; 
no,  nor  you,  Roberts;  nor  you,  Redney,  with  both  your 
papers;  nor  you,  nor  you!  " 

How  filouise  strained  eyes  and  ears  for  each  shade  of 
comment  that  would  end  the  matching!  It  seemed  an 
hour  that  Antoine  laughed  there  with  them  and  poured 
drinks  for  the  losers,  and  then,  at  a  word  from  his  com- 
panion, Dunbar,  who  had  evidently  forgotten  he  held  a 
ticket,  staggered  up. 

"  Here  we  are,  gentlemen;  'xcuse  me  if  I  kept  you  wait- 
ing in  your  grand  lottery  drawing;  here's  my  ticket.  I  paid 
the  last  dollar  on  the  princess  apparent,  and  the  last  dollar 
wins." 

"It  does  do  so,  indeed,  Monsieur,"  and  Antoine  laid 
beside  it  the  matched  card.  "  It  is  the  thirteen,  which  is 
called  unlucky,  but  to  you  it  brings  the  good  luck — the 
squaw  ISlouise." 

The  girl's  face  grew  white  as  Dunbar  turned  to  her 
laughing. 

"  A  nice  addition  you  are  to  a  man's  outfit  just  when  he's 
taking  a  trail  back  to  the  world,"  he  remarked.  "Come 
here.  You  don't  belong  to  '  her  royals '  there  any  longer; 
don't  be  afraid.  Will  you  come  with  me? " 

"filouise  is  not  afraid  now,"  she  said,  with  a  prouder  look 
on  her  face,  a  face  that  had  something  like  content  in  it. 

"Don't  believe  you  are,*' he  said;  "  living  with  Satanas 
must  make  strong  nerves.  Don't  know  what  I'm  to  do 
with  you,  Illlouise,  'pon  my  soul  I  don't,  unless  I  get  a  boy's 
outfit  for  you  and  call  you  Louis;  that  might  do,  hey, 


24  SQUAW   £  LOUISE. 

Antoine — only  you're  too  pretty  for  a  boy,  much  too  pretty. 
What  do  you  say,  Cleve? "  (this  to  the  clear-eyed  gambler 
near  him).  "  It  makes  a  heap  of  trouble  for  a  man  when 
they're  too  pretty." 

And  then,  as  the  gainer  of  the  prize,  he  was  called  on  to 
treat  the  crowd.  The  prize  herself  slipped  away  into  a 
corner,  unnoted  by  her  owner  and  seemingly  uncared  for 
by  the  princess,  who  dribbled  the  price  of  her  from  one 
hand  to  the  other  contentedly,  not  even  missing  the  belt- 
knife  l^louise  had  deftly  stolen  from  her  in  the  commence- 
ment of  the  raffle,  and  which  she  yet  held  fearfully  in  the 
breast  of  the  blouse  she  wore,  doubtful,  perhaps,  of  success- 
fully keeping  it  if  the  maternal  mind  turned  toward  its 
loss. 

But  Redney  had  noted  the  petty  thieving,  considering  it 
a  bit  of  a  virtue  to  steal  from  that  keen-eyed  Satanas,  as 
Dunbar  had  called  her;  and  then  his  quick  sympathy  for 
her  was  forgotten  in  watching  the  games  commenced,  one 
between  the  stranger  called  Clevents  and  Dunbar,  who 
shuffled  the  cards,  gayly  elated  with  his  luck,  and  confident 
of  luck  to  come. 

"Lay  out  your  ' tahlas,'  Mr.  Clevents;  I'm  waiting  for 
them,  and  have  an  idea  that  I  could  win  the  stars  out  of 
heaven  to-night." 

The  gambler  looked  at  him  and  smiled.  The  flushed 
face  and  eyes,  feverish  from  Antoine's  liquor-store,  were  not 
the  signs  of  a  winner  in  a  play  of  science,  and  for  a  player 
to  hoodoo  his  own  game  by  boasting  of  high  luck  was 
another  folly.  Mr.  Clevents  knew  better  than  that. 

And  the  truth  of  that  old  gambling  superstition  was 
proven  by  the  money  that  after  the  first  game — ah!  that 
first  game  that  brings  hope! — went  steadily  across  the  table 
and  away  from  Dunbar's  hand,  that  grew  more  and  more 
unsteady  with  every  loss  and  the  drinks  that  followed. 


A    GAME.  25 

"We'll  quit  now,  if  you  say  so,"  said  the  gambler 
obligingly,  as  he  slipped  the  gains  into  his  pocket,  knowing 
that  there  was  little  left  to  win. 

"No,  sir,  you  don't!  "  objected  the  other  with  the  stub- 
bornness of  the  whisky  asserting  itself;  "the  last  dollar 
wins,  I  tell  you!  Where's  that  Indian  I  won?  The  last 
dollar — that's  where  my  luck  lies,  and  you  owe  me  a  chance 
to  get  even,  Mr. — Mr.  Cleve.  Lord!  how  my  head  aches. 
Give  me  another  drink!  There's  the  rest  of  it,"  and  he 
emptied  his  pockets  on  the  table;  "count  it,  you  little  fel- 
low; I'll  do  as  much  for  you  some  day.  How  much? 
Thirteen  dollars — thirteen?  Cover  that,  then,  Mr.  Cleve, 
and  here  goes  for  luck!  " 

The  gambler  hesitated;  not  a  bad  sort  of  a  fellow  and 
not  wanting  to  strip  a  man. 

"Go  'head,"  said  one  of  the  bystanders;  "give  a  man  a 
chance  to  get  his  money  back." 

And  Mr.  Clevents  did  so.  The  thirteen,  with  that  last 
dollar  among  them,  were  covered,  the  cards,  with  fate  in 
them,  portioned  out,  and  at  the  finale  it  was  again  the  slen- 
der, finely-formed  hand  of  the  gambler  that  had  reached 
out  for  the  stakes. 

"Satisfied?"  he  asked.  "  Tell  you  what  I'll  do;  give  you 
back  a  fifty  to  play  against  someone  else  if  you  promise  it 
won't  be  played  against  me." 

Dunbar  shook  his  head  at  the  stipulation  founded  on  a 
time-honored  superstition. 

"  No,  I  don't;  you're  the  man  I  want  to  play,  do  you  see? 
and  I'm  played  out,  I  reckon,  ain't  I? "  He  looked  at  his 
fingers  and  laughed  tipsily.  "  I  used  to  wear  a  ring  that 
might  have  backed  me,  ditto  watch,  but  I  don't  see  them 
now,  gentlemen,  do  you?  No;  a  girl  down  the  Palouse 
country  made  love  to  that  ring — girls  were  scarce  down  there 
— and  she  got  it.  Not  a  d — d  ounce  of  jewelry  have  I  at — " 


26  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

Then  his  hand,  mechanically  raised  to  his  throat,  touched 
something  that  checked  his  speech. 

"Yes,  I  have,  too,"  he  continued,  and  a  bit  of  slender 
gold  chain  was  dragged  above  his  open  collar.  "  I've 
got—" 

In  a  corner  of  the  room  far  away  from  him,  but  where 
her  eyes  could  rest  on  his  face,  the  Indian  girl  was 
crouched  looking  at  him — looking  at  him;  and  as  he 
raised  his  eyes  he  saw  her.  "  I've  got  you,"  he  added;  and 
the  chain  with  its  pendant  was  dropped  again  under  its 
cover.  "  Come  here,  filouise;  let  me  see  how  much  money 
I  can  win  with  you.  There  she  is,  Cleve;  if  you'll  start  her 
at  a  hundred,  we'll  play." 

"Pshaw!"  you  can  buy  squaws  all  along  the  coast  for 
less  than  that,"  remarked  one  of  the  men,  and  the  gam- 
bler, hearing  him,  smiled. 

"Maybe, , but  not  a  princess  of  royal  blood,"  he  said 
coolly.  "I'll  do  it,  Dunbar;  there's  your  ducats." 

Other  games  were  forgotten  for  the  moment,  and  the 
men  gathered  around  to  watch  this  final  one  with  a  bit  of 
humanity  among  the  stakes. 

"  What's  up? "  asked  a  tall  man,  peering  over  the  heads 
of  the  others  into  the  circle,  and  a  half-breed  trapper  from 
the  south  country  answered  in  Chinook: 

"The  man  from  the  mines  won  the  squaw;  now  he 
gambles  her  against  the  stranger's  money." 

And  the  girl,  who  had  come  at  her  master's  bidding, 
stood  close  beside  the  speaker.  She  had  not  known  why 
she  was  called,  nor  understood  the  words  of  the  two  gam- 
blers; but  she  heard  the  words  of  the  trapper,  and  her 
hand  grasped  quickly  the  back  of  her  master's  chair.  She 
understood  now. 

"  That  cursed  squaw  has  eyes  like  augers,"  said  one  man 
who  was  across  the  table  from  her,  and  on  whom  her  eyes 


A    GAME.  27 

were  resting,  though  seeing  nothing.  "  She's  pretty  white, 
but  the  devil  in  her  eyes  is  a  red  one." 

And  then  the  game  went  on  close  to  her,  but  she  saw  noth- 
ing of  it.  She  never  moved ;  she  seemed  scarcely  to  breathe ; 
but  when  the  trapper  spoke,  one  hand  had  gone  quickly  to 
her  blouse,  where  the  knife  was  hidden,  and  remained  there. 

Then  there  was  the  thud  on  the  table  of  the  last  play,  a 
long  breath  from  the  watchers  that  said  the  game  was 
over,  and  the  gambler  arose  and  looked  across  at  filouise. 

"I  guess  you  go  with  me  this  trip,"  he  said  pleasantly; 
but  the  girl  drew  back,  with  her  eyes  turned  to  her  master, 
and  such  a  world  of  beseeching  in  them! 

"  Yes,  he's  right;  won  you,  you  know,"  explained  the  loser 
drowsily.  "I'm  sorry,  but  you  go  along;  he's  all  right — you 

go-" 

He  turned  in  his  chair,  laying  a  persuasive  hand  on  her 
arm,  pushing  her  toward  the  stranger. 

And  then  a  shrill  cry  of  rage  rang  through  the  room;  a 
gleam  of  steel  flashed  up  from  her  bosom  as  she  stood  be- 
tween the  two  men,  and  then  it  was  turned  against,  not  the 
stranger  she  shrank  from,  but  deep  down  into  the  shoulder 
of  the  man  she  had  watched  with  worshiping  eyes. 

Someone  caught  her  arm  as  the  knife  was  drawn  out, 
dripping,  and  turned  toward  her  own  throat.  And  there 
were  shouts  and  oaths,  general  crowding  and  confusion, 
amidst  which  she  glided  like  a  snake  from  her  captor's 
hands,  but  only  to  be  grasped  by  the  boyish-looking  fellow 
who  had  thought  she  deserved  to  be  sold. 

She  tried  to  escape  from  him,  but  his  grip  was  like  steel. 
In  the  struggle  they  drew  away  from  that  table  where  the 
man  lay,  as  they  said,  dead. 

Suddenly  the  boy  muttered,  in  the  jargon  she  knew: 
"There  is  the  side  door;  go  through  the  stable  and  up  the 
cliff.  You're  plucky,  anyway.  Now  go!  " 


28  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

And  as  she  darted  through  the  door  she  stepped  on  and 
wakened  the  princess,  who  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
weary,  stretched  out  along  the  wall. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A    LETTER. 

ANOTHER  week  had  gone  by,  and  by  chance  another  mail 
had  been  borne  upon  a  passing  garpoint — a  mail  of  two 
letters,  one  for  Milton  Ewing,  who  pushed  his  way  to 
the  door,  followed  by  Redney,  and,  once  free  from  the 
others,  opened  the  envelope  they  had  both  waited  for. 

"Well?"  said  the  boy,  impatiently,  as  Ewing,  after  a 
glance,  gave  a  low  whistle  of  surprise  and  pleasure,  then  a 
sorrowful  "Well,  well,  that's  too  bad!"  and  then,  turn- 
ing the  page  to  look  at  the  heading,  he  arose  hastily. 

"By  Jove!  she's  been  there  three  days,  and  worried  half 
crazy,  I'll  bet.  Well,  I'll  just  start  to-night." 

"Likely  to  take  time  to  leave  your  address  behind?" 
asked  his  partner,  sarcastically;  and  Milt  laughed,  with 
elated,  excited  eyes. 

"You  kid!  "  he  said,  with  contemptuous  fondness  in  his 
voice,  "  you  can't  be  expected  to  understand  the  feelings  of 
a  family  man.  Nannie's  coming — is  down  at.  Farwell, 
poor  little  girl.  Met  some  nice  folks,  she  says,  one  of  them 
a  young  lady — a  young  lady,  Redney.  Ever  see  one?  Not 
in  this  basin,  I'll  swear.  Her  party  is  bound  for  this 
region.  Name  Raeforth.  Raeforth?  Ain't  that  one  of  the 
partners  in  the  '  Little  Dell '  mine?  I  thought  so.  And 
Nannie  fell  in  with  them  at  some  junction  across  in  God's 


A   LETTER.  29 

country.  Lucky  she  did.  And  instead  of  going  on  to  Port- 
land, as  had  been  planned,  this  girl,  Miss  Raeforth,  con- 
cludes to  come  up  here  sight-seeing,  since  she  finds  another 
woman  is  coming;  and,  listen  to  this,  Redney,  'Is  it  true, 
Milt,  that  there  are  no  white  women  at  all  up  at  High- 
Low?'" 

Redney  whistled  and  looked  at  Milt  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye. 

"There's  'Dutch  Liz,'"  he  hazarded,  "or  your  friend 
*  Piano  Lou.' " 

"Stop  it!  You've  got  no  more  'savvy'  than  to  make  a 
break  like  that  before  Nannie,  and — and  she  might  think 
you  meant  it,"  he  wound  up,  lamely  enough,  and  with  his 
face  flushing  under  Redney's  delighted  eyes. 

"I  do  mean  it,"  he  grinned — "so  did  old  'Piano.'  She 
asked  why  you  never  come  in,  and  sent  word  she  liked 
white  blond  men." 

"Oh,  break  away,  can't  you!  AVomen  say  lots  of  things 
to  kids  that  they  wouldn't  want  men  to  hear." 

"Ugh,  ugh!"  agreed  the  boy  with  an  Indian  grunt, 
"  and  one  or  two  things  to  men  that  they  wouldn't  want 
kids  to  hear." 

"Hello!"  broke  out  Milt  again,  turning  to  the  written 
page.  "  How's  this?  '  I've  an  idea  that  Delia — Miss  Rae- 
forth— has  a  sweetheart  up  there  in  the  mines.  She  talks  of 
him  a  good  deal,  but  hasn't  seen  him  for  two  years.  His 
name  is  Dunbar,  and  if  you  should  happen  to  know  him,  it 
would  be  nice  to  have  him  come  with  you  and  surprise 
Delia.'" 

"  Delia  will  find  her  surprise  all  in  shape,"  said  the  boy, 
heartlessly;  "and  then  we'll  all  have  to  take  turns  sitting  up 
with  Delia,  same  as  with  Gentleman  Neil." 

"You  never  liked  that  man,  did  you,  Redney?"  asked  the 
older  man;  and  the  boy's  lip  curled. 


30  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"  Like — like?  I  don't  know.  I  was  glad  when  the  girl 
cut  him,  anyway;"  and  with  the  deep  wrinkle  between  his 
brows,  Redney  looked  another  person  from  the  joking 
"kid"  who  was  his  partner's  comfort  and  torment.  "I 
wouldn't  a  pined  away  any  if  she'd  killed  him." 

"  I  guess  that's  what  she  struck  for,"  said  the  other,  and 
then  paused  at  a  cabin  where  a  man  sat  smoking  at  the 
door. 

"  How's  your  patient,  Collins — crazy  yet?  " 

"  How  is  he?  Well,  I'll  be !"  and  the  bans  that  might 

be  spoken  against  Mr.  Collins  by  the  "  powers  that  be  "  are 
unwritable.  "  Hain't  you  fellows  heard? " 

"  Heard  nothing;  what  is  it? "  demanded  the  kid. 

"  He  skipped  last  night,  slipped  the  noose  some  way,  an* 
I'll  be if  he  ain't  gone!  " 

"But  he  couldn't  go  far,"  debated  Ewing. 

"That's  what  I  says,"  affirmed  Mr.  Collins.  "I  says — 
gentlemen,  may  be  I  might  a  had  a  pretty  good  load  on  last 

night;  I  ain't  a  swearin'  different,  I'll  be if  I  am;  an'  I 

might  a  slep'  sounder  than  usual  in  consequence.  But 
s'pose  I  did  lay  here  on  the  step  all  night,  an'  s'pose  he 
did,  in  some  o'  his  flighty  turns,  walk  out  over  me,  where's 
he  a  walkin'  to?  That's  what  I'm  askin'.  Him,  with  a  bad 
cut  that  may  break  open  any  time,  an*  his  head  so  flighty 
with  the  fever  yesterday  that  I  wa'n't  noways  sure  he's  to 
get  out  of  it  alive  after  all." 

Redney  glanced  at  the  tumbling  waters  of  the  creek  that 
belted  the  cliff. 

"Yes,  we  looked  there;  ain't  along  it  unless  he's  floated 
down  the  Columbia.  He  couldn't  walk  far  in  his  kelter, 
though  he  was  crazy  to  get  out  o'  the  door  every  time  my 
peepers  was  off  him.  I've  been  worried  to  death  thinkin* 
of  him,  a  starvin',  may  be,  an'  not  havin*  sense  to  know 
what  ails  him." 


A   LETTER.  31 

"You  look  it,"  remarked  Redney;  and  then,  "  What  does 
that  man  Clevents  say  about  it?  " 

"Ain't  here;  left  Monday.  Acted  like  a  white  man,  too, 

about  Dunbar;  I'll  be if  he  didn't!  Paid  out  money 

without  a  word  for  two  weeks'  nursin'  to  come — said  he'd 
float  up  here  again  by  that  time.  He's  got  a  heart  in  him!  " 

Redney  was  poking  along  the  side  of  the  cabin  where  the 
one  window  was.  Inside  of  the  Uttle  square  was  the  bunk 
the  wounded  man  had  used,  and  his  inquisitive  young  eyes 
glanced  around  and  returned  again  to  the  soil  without  that 
had  attracted  his  eyes  first. 

"  No  use  smellin'  around  there,  even  if  you  are  one-quarter 
Injun,"  said  the  nurse,  with  contempt  for  the  boy's  pre- 
tenses. "  Do  you  suppose  a  man  that  size  could  wriggle 
through  that  ten  by  twelve  air-hole?  Then,  I'm  tellin'  you, 
he  didn't  have  to;  the  door  was  open.  Injun  blood  must 
always  pretend  to  jugglery,"  he  added,  peevishly,  to  Ewing. 
"  It  ain't  how  he  got  out  but  where  he's  gone  that's  con- 
fusin'  this  camp.  Can  you  tell  us  that,  you  little  red  devil?  " 

The  boy  straightened  up  and  scraped  his  heavy  boot  over 
the  soil  softened  by  a  rain  the  evening  before. 

"  I  can,  but  I  won't,"  he  said,  laconically.  "  Come  along, 
Milt." 

And  Milt,  nothing  loath,  did  so.  Somehow,  some  way,  he 
must  start  that  evening  for  Farwell — the  old  post  of  the 
Hudson  Bay  trappers — the  outfitting  town  for  the  entire 
mining  region  of  the  Selkirks  that  stretches  far  to  the  north 
— the  old  post  named  by  the  Indians  because  of  the  sepa- 
rations seen  there. 

But  it  was  little  of  the  separations  that  the  young  hus- 
band was  thinking  of,  with  those  glowing  eyes,  as  the  two 
went  over  the  road  together,  but  of  a  greeting,  and  the 
certainty  that  Nannie  and  the  baby  were  within  a  day  and 
a  night's  ride  of  him. 


32  SQUAW   ^LOUISE 

So  slight  a  showing  was  there  of  the  red-skin  in  the  boy 
who  was  his  partner,  that  Ewing  was  apt  to  forget  his  fabled 
ancestry  at  times,  though  he  never  forgot  to  have  faith  in 
the  boy's  knowledge  of  woodcraft,  which  seemed  at  times 
subtle  and  uncanny  to  the  uninitiated. 

Remembering  it  in  the  midst  of  his  thoughts  of  Nannie, 
he  halted  at  the  entrance  to  the  one  shed  for  mules  tnat 
was  owned  at  Indian  Spring,  and  turned  to  the  boy. 

"  Say,  Redney,  were  you  talking  straight  when  you  said 
you  could  tell  where  Dunbar  had  gone? " 

"When  did  I  lie  to  you?"  demanded  the  other,  half 
sulkily;  "and  what  matter  where  he  goes?  He's  gone  to 
what  he  deserves,  may  be.  It's  nothing  to  us." 

"  But  the  strangers — " 

"Oh! — Delia?"  and  the  young  cub  uttered  the  name 
with  a  mimicry  of  affectation.  "  Well,  Delia  will  have  to  hus- 
tle around  for  some  other  tenderfoot,  and  if  Delia  is  any 
good,  she'll  find  plenty  o'  men  to  take  his  place — men,  too." 

Every  available  canoe  was  fifteen  miles  down  the  river  on 
a  big  fishing  frolic,  and  neither  pleas  nor  persuasions  could 
win  from  the  stable  more  than  one  horse  for  the  trip  there 
—one  "  kyuse  "  to  go  under  the  saddle,  but  no  more. 

"  I'm  elected  to  walk,  then,  and  save  my  money  for  shoes," 
grunted  Redney,  eying  a  couple  of  sick  horses  that  short- 
ened the  road  allowance.  "  Why  don't  you  take  in  your  sign, 
then,  an'  shoot  them  crow-baits?" 

But  ill-temper  availed  nothing.  There  wasn't  a  mule  on 
which  Redney  could  go  as  best  man  to  meet  the  bride  of 
his  friend.  Redney  had  to  stay  home  and  scour  up  the  tin 
pans  and  make  the  shack  shine,  against  the  arrival.  He 
would  have  walked,  willingly,  but  Milt  objected. 

"You  know  I  wouldn't  see  you  do  that,  you  contrary 
Red,  you!  "  he  said.  "  If  you  go,  it  will  mean  a  walk,  time 
about,  with  the  one  horse  between  us,  and  I  couldn't  cover 
ground  near  so  fast  so." 


A   LETTER.  33 

"  Go  'long!  "  adjured  his  partner,  at  that  view  of  the  case. 
"  Hump  yourself,  now,  and  get  back  in  time  for  grub  to- 
morrow night — I'll  have  it  ready  in  great  shape;  and  here," 
as  Milt  leaped  eagerly  into  the  saddle,  "  just  s'pose  you  get 
some  o'  that  bakin'  powder  like  they  have  down  there — I'm 
sick  o'  saleratus;  an'  I  want  a  nutmeg — Antoine  hasn't 
any;  an'  if  you've  got  any  dust  after  you  pay  expenses, 
how'd  it  be  to  freeze  to  another  blanket — we're  like  to  be 
short  for  extra  beds.  Where  do  you  reckon  we'll  stick 
Delia? " 

The  other  man  gathered  up  the  reins,  his  lips  twitching 
at  the  perplexities  of  his  partner. 

"  Don't  know,"  he  said,  carelessly.  "  You're  running  the 
boarding-house.  My  end  of  the  cu'oin  will  be  full  when 
Joseph  Dyce  Ewing  and  his  mother  come.  But  the  young 
lady  isn't  likely  to  be  big,  and  there's  plenty  of  room  in 
your  berth,  and  I  should  think — " 

A  shot  fired  under  the  belly  of  the  beast  Mr.  Ewing  was  on 
caused  that  animal  to  cav6rt  some,  in  a  way  that  checked 
the  recital  of  its  rider's  thoughts,  to  the  delight  of  Redney, 
who  slipped  his  revolver  back  in  his  pocket,  with  a  grin 
that  belied  the  frown  between  his  eyes;  and  having  given 
his  partner  that  parting  salute,  he  climbed  up  to  their 
cabin,  perched  above  the  settlement,  and  sedately  went  to 
work  at  house-cleaning. 


34  SQUAW   fLOUISE. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   LAKES   OF    THE    ARROWS. 

SEVERAL  days  previous  an  event  wonderful  occurred  to  a 
camp  of  Indian  hunters  camped  alongside  the  rapids  that 
celebrate  the  last  run  of  the  independent  Kootenai. 

Up  from  toward  Fort  Shepherd  came  a  whole  fleet  of 
canoes,  a  fleet  elongated  as  they  were  paddled  in  single  file 
close  to  the  shore,  their  dusky  steersmen  taking  advantage 
of  the  eddies  which  the  swift  downward  drive  of  the  center 
current  flings  backward  in  its  flight. 

But  it  was  not  so  much  the  number  or  the  perfection  of 
the  fleet  as  it  was  the  occupants  who  astonished  the 
natives,  and  sent  little  grunts  of  questions  and  low-voiced 
replies  around  the  Indian  circle. 

They  had  women  of  their  own  with  them,  but  no  woman- 
hood their  eyes  had  ever  seen  was  quite  like  the  dainty 
little  creature  who  came  with  a  laugh  over  the  side  of  the 
canoe,  and  toward  them.  Back  of  her  came  another  lady, 
also  young,  and  with  a  child  in  her  arms.  She  walked 
more  sedately,  and  took  advantage  of  the  proffered  arm  of 
an  elderly,  silent  gentleman,  who  gave  some  orders  to  the 
interpreter  (a  white  man,  and  the  least  reputable-looking 
of  the  lot  of  employes),  and  then  followed  up  to  the  grassy 
level,  where  the  young  girl  had  already  joined  some  of  the 
earlier  arrived  of  their  steersmen,  and  where  she  bowed  and 
smiled  at  an  old  man  who  came  forward  from  the  door  of 
his  lodge — a  man  bareheaded  and  with  the  severe  repose  of 
a  patriarch  in  his  dark  face,  a  face  imposing,  but  not  over- 
aweing  to  the  young  visitor,  who  smiled  again  at  his  one 


THE  LAKES  OF  THE  ARROWS.  35 

English  word  of  "welcome,"  and  nodded  acceptance  of  it,, 
and  gazed  about  at  the  rest  of  the  little  camp,  the  mem- 
bers of  which  returned  her  scrutiny  with  interest.  Only 
the  few  squaws  would  look  at  her  with  shy,  wondering  eyes, 
and  turn  swiftly  away  if  she  caught  them  at  it;  and  then, 
with  their  backs  half-turned,  they  would  converse  in  the 
gentle  tones  native  to  them,  using  few  words  but  many  ges- 
tures of  their  expressive  hands,  and  stealing  ever  and  anon 
a  glance  at  the  new-comers,  at  the  white  baby,  but,  above 
all,  the  small,  dainty  figure  of  the  girl  who  laughed  and 
nodded  and  smiled  at  the  people  about  her  like  some  gold- 
crowned  singing-bird  that  had  strayed  out  of  its  course  and 
into  the  midst  of  sober  russet  and  workaday  hued  birds  of 
prey,  and  fearing  them  not  at  all,  or  else  trusting  her  powers 
of  fascination  to  insure  her  a  path  of  peace  among  them. 

And,  in  truth,  they  looked  as  if  she  had  won  it  without  a 
word,  just  as  a  child  does  that  walks  into  your  garden  with 
baby  insolence  and  laughs  at  you  as  it  gathers  blossoms. 

She  was  like  a  child  in  her  little  tyrannical  ways,  and  the 
gentleman  who  followed  shook  his  head  and  tried  to  frown 
on  her  haste  and  her  ignorance  of  the  subdued  manner 
fashionable  among  female  things  of  the  Indian  country. 

But  she  only  laughed. 

"  Now,  if  you  did  not  know  him  well,  Mrs.  Ewing,  you 
might  imagine  he  meant  to  be  very  disapproving  with  that 
glare  in  his  eyes — it  was  a  glare,  Uncle! — but,  bless  his 
heart,  he  don't.  He's  a  little  frightened  lest  they'll  want  to 
steal  me,  maybe,  but  that's  all." 

The  "uncle"  was  already  speaking,  through  his  inter- 
preter, to  the  tall  old  man  before  mentioned,  and  trying  to 
bargain  for  some  fresh  meat  for  their  evening  meal,  as  they 
were  pushing  up-stream,  with  the  desire  to  lose  no  time  in 
hunting  on  the  way. 

The  meat,  as  well  as  the  welcome,  was  obtained  from  the 


-36  SQUAW   fLOUISE. 

Indians,  who  were  also  pushing  up  to  the  lakes,  but  not  in 
much  haste.  Their  chief,  Simon  of  the  Colvilles,  told  the 
visitors  that  it  was  now  their  season  for  taking  the  water  to 
their  hunting  and  fishing  grounds,  and  the  trail  led  where 
that  of  the  travelers  was  to  go,  where  many  whites  had 
gone  in  a  few  months,  up  toward  the  "  Big  Bend  "  region 
where  the  placer-diggings  are.  Only  the  Indian  hunter  did 
not  need  to  go  so  far;  there  are  fish  in  the  lakes  which  really 
began  at  the  junction  of  the  rivers,  where  the  camp  was 
pitched,  and  in  the  Selkirks,  but  a  two  days'  journey,  were 
found  all  of  wild  flesh  and  mountain  sheep  their  boats 
would  hold. 

They  had  an  idea  that  this  white  man  with  the  women 
and  "  iktus  "  (plunder  or  baggage)  was  a  new  trader  going 
to  live  the  rest  of  his  life  in  the  north  country,  and 
looked  puzzled  and  incredulous  when  told  it  was  but  a  stay 
for  a  few  days  that  was  intended,  and  that  the  open-eyed 
young  lady  was  really  going  just  for  a  pleasure  trip. 

They  had  never  heard  of  anything  like  that.  Indian 
women  had  gone  up  into  that  country,  but  never  a  white 
wife  with  a  white  child  had  floated  upward  over  the  Arrow 
lakes;  or,  if  so,  Simon  had  never  heard  of  it,  and  he  had 
lived  always  near  the  waters  of  the  Columbia,  and  now  was 
an  old  man. 

"And  this  child  the  white  stranger's  daughter?"  asked 
the  chief,  and  looked  kindly  on  the  girl  who  had  entered 
the  Selkirk  country  for  pleasure.  At  that  moment  she  had 
the  white  baby  in  her  arms,  and  had  approached  a  rather 
neatly  cared-for  scion  of  the  Colvilles,  aged  about  one 
year,  and  was  persistently  endeavoring  to  have  them 
"  make  up." 

And  as  personal  histories  and  divulged  intents  were  the 
fashion,  Chief  Simon  learned  that  it  was  a  niece  of  the 
stranger  called  Raeforth;  that  he  (Mr.  Raeforth)  was  to 


THE  LAKES  OF  THE  ARROWS.  37 

visit  the  diggings  south  of  the  Big  Bend;  that  much 
land  there  was  covered  by  his  name,  near  by  where  the 
trail  from  the  Shuswap  country  reached  the  Columbia;  that 
the  new  diggings  near  the  old  trading-place  were  called  the 
"  Little  Dell  "  in  honor  of  the  young  lady,  who  was  going 
up  to  visit  her  six-months-old  namesake,  and  that  in  the 
lower  country  it  was  said  her  name  was  more  than  pretty — 
its  mark  on  paper  meant  much  money — and  the  uncle  was  a 
man  of  far  sight  and  keen  scent  for  paths  that  led  to  the 
precious  metals. 

Needless  to  say  that  the  interpreter — an  accommodating 
person  named  Cottrell,  and  called  "  Cot" — gave  his  Indian 
acquaintances  more  information  of  that  sort  than  Mr.  Rae- 
forth  was  aware  of,  naturally  wishing  his  charges  to  be 
estimated  at  their  full  value.  The  little  woman  with  the 
gray,  steadfast  eyes  and  the  baby  he  knew  less  of,  as  she 
had  only  joined  them  at  the  fort  below. 

But  such  was  the  introduction  of  the  white  group  to  the 
lake  country,  a  very  satisfying  one  to  the  strangers,  who 
settled  comfortably  for  the  night  as  neighbors  of  Chief 
Simon  and  his  hunters;  and  when  the  evening  meal  was 
spread,  with  the  two  parties  within  speaking  distance,  the 
surprise  of  the  strangers  was  great  when  a  sudden  calm 
fell  over  the  circle  of  Simon,  and  turning  their  attention  to 
the  cause  of  it,  they  noted  the  patriarch  with  bowed  head 
and  the  same  reverence  of  attitude  expressed  by  his  family, 
while  a  low,  half-whispered  monologue  from  his  lips  told 
the  others  that  he  was  saying  grace  before  meat  in  Chi- 
nook. 

"  I  expected  surprises  in  this  region,"  confessed  Miss 
Raeforth,  "  but  decidedly  not  of  this  sort.  Why,  this 
seems  the  very  farthest  corner  of  the  world,  and  those 
Indians  are  said  to  belong  in  Washington,  that  seems  only 
newly  discovered,  and  I'd  like  someone  to  account  for 


38  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

their  religion  and  their  real  courtesy,  for  they  are  not  at  all 
like  our  average  Indian  of  the  States." 

"  The  difference,  I  suppose,  is  because  the  priests  long 
ago  thought  this  field  worth  working,  and  worked  it," 
explained  her  uncle.  "  The  work  of  the  Catholic  missions 
through  this  region  has  been  something  tremendous,  and 
the  Colvilles  as  a  nation  are  devout  Catholics,  no  doubt 
fulfilling  the  spirit  of  their  faith  more  absolutely  than  the 
white  converts  of  the  cities  or  settlements." 

"Yes,"  affirmed  "Cot,"  who  overheard  them,  "they  are 
the  best  reds  you're  likely  to  run  across;  mind  their  own 
traps  and  don't  freeze  to  any  other  man's;  raise  their  own 
crops  and  flour-mills,  and  keep  up  their  churches,  too.  Yes, 
they  are  all  church  Indians,  and  the  fellows  who  are  not 
have  a  hard  row  to  hoe  among  them.  They  kill  members 
for  breakin'  some  o'  the  moral  laws  that  in  a  white  settle- 
ment a  lawyer  could  talk  a  man  clear  of." 

Mrs.  Ewing's  face  was  lighting  up  wonderfully.  "  Oh, 
you  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  to  have  you  tell  me  all  this," 
she  confessed,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  I  was  growing  quite 
hopeless  back  at  The  Dalles,  for  they  did  tell  me  there  such 
depressing  things  about  the  life  of  the  mining  country;  in 
fact,  I  never  should  have  ventured  up  here  but  for  you 
and  your  kindness,"  she  said,  with  a  fond  look  at  the  young 
girl,  who  responded  promptly,"  Same  here," and  leaned  over 
to  give  the  little  wife  a  hand-pressure  in  return  for  the  look. 

But  Mr.  Cottrell  smiled  dubiously  at  Mrs.  Ewing's  words. 

"  Well,  now,"  he  advised,  "  I  wouldn't  be  too  much  set  up 
on  account  of  this  tribe  being  sort  of  decent  people,  for  you 
see  these  are  Indians,  but  when  you  strike  Farwell,  or  High- 
Low,  or  the  Big  Bend,  you  won't  hear  many  hymns  being 
sung.  You  see,  Missus,  you'll  be  among  white  men  and 
half-breeds  then,  and  they  are  some  different." 

But  it  was  hard  to  convince  the  ladies  of  that  fact.    One 


THE  LAKES  OF  THE  ARROWS.  39 

of  them  had  a  husband  up  there  whom  she  felt  sure  would 
never  come  second  to  any  Indian  in  nobility,  and  the  other 
had  someone — was  it  friend,  or  sweetheart?  She  called 
him  "cousin,"  anyway,  and  gayly  and  confidently  invested 
him  with  all  moral  attributes  possible  to  masculine  human 
nature,  laughing  a  little  as  she  did  so,  but  hesitating  not 
at  all  to  show  that  his  presence  in  that  locality  might  have 
influenced  her  decision  that  the  Columbia  River  was  worth 
following  toward  its  source  for  several  days'  journey. 

"  You  see,"  she  confided  to  Mrs.  Ewing,  "  he  hasn't 
been  so  lucky  as  I.  Men  can't  save  money  when  they  live 
all  over  the  country  as  he  has  been  doing,  and  what  money 
he  has  made  has  been  for  other  people — some  of  it  for  me, 
for  he  advised  Uncle  of  some  splendid  investments;  and, 
money  or  no  money,  he  is  quite  the  handsomest  man  I  ever 
knew,  and  would  be  distinguished  in  any  society.  Here's 
his  picture,  taken  when  we  were  engaged.  We  are  the  only 
ones  of  the  family,  he  and  I,  though  the  relationship  is  not 
very  close;  and  as  I've  an  idea  that  he  is  getting  prouder 
as  he  gets  poorer,  I  am  going  to  surprise  him  in  his  villainy, 
and  tell  him  it  is  all  nonsense,  for  he  is  the  dearest  fellow 
alive,  and  if  he's  tired  of  roughing  it,  he  can  quit  it." 

Hence  the  reason  that  Mr.  Cottrell's  statements  fell  on 
soil  barren  of  belief.  For  in  those  feminine,  hero-worship- 
ing hearts  reposed  an  idea  that  their  own  particular  heroes 
contained  the  leaven  of  virtue  equal  to  the  purification  of 
miners  more  hopeless  than  those  of  High-Low.  And  then, 
were  not  even  the  Indians  of  the  region  religious  and  virt- 
uous? and  is  not  the  white  man  ever  his  superior?  . 

So,  in  the  quick  June  twilight  that  followed  the  sun,  the 
two  enthusiasts  talked  understandingly  of  those  things, 
and  of  the  sylvan  charms  of  life  in  Chinook  land,  and  the 
unreality  of  the  peaceful  scene  about  the  lodges  of  their 
dusky  neighbors.  For  Miss  Raeforth  was  for  the  first  time 


40  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

west  of  the  Mississippi,  and  Mrs.  Ewing  for  the  first  time 
west  of  the  Alleghanies,  and  the  soft- voiced  Indians  of  the 
^akes  were  pictures  unexpected  for  them,  totally  unlike  the 
tribes  farther  south  and  east.  They  were  several  degrees 
cleaner,  much  more  progressive  in  all  desirable  things,  and, 
above  all,  they  appeared  so  surprisingly  well-to-do. 

"Not  much  like  the  whisky-polluted  wretches  at  some  of 
the  towns  along  the  railroad,"  said  the  girl,  admiringly,  as 
she  noted  Simon  and  Mr.  Raeforth  in  stately  converse  by 
the  side  of  the  flickering  blaze  of  the  camp-fire,  and  with 
them  Mr.  Cottrell,  and  the  Indians  of  both  parties  grouped 
about,  taking  part  in  the  wau-wau  (conversation)  by  the 
respect  of  their  attention.  "  No,  these  people  are  not  a 
bit  like  our  savages  nearer  our  civilization.  They  are 
altogether  ideal  at  a  casual  glance,  and  I  confess  I  should 
like  to  take  more  than  a  casual  glance  at  them.  AVhat  a 
frolic  it  would  be  to  go  summer  boarding  with  them;  get 
an  Indian  dress  and  make  oneself  up  accordingly — what  an 
experience  that  would  be!" 

"No  doubt,"  assented  Mrs.  Ewing,  drily;  "and,  to  com- 
plete the  romance,  you  would  of  course  join  their  church, 
and  marry  the  favorite  son  of  the  chief  at  the  end  of  the 
season.  I  do  believe  you  are  simply  hungry  for  an  advent- 
ure of  some  sort." 

"  Have  you  ever  doubted  it?  I  am  sure  you  might  have 
read  'adventuress'  on  my  face  the  moment  you  set  eyes  on 
me  at  the  Little  Dalles.  What  else  do  you  suppose  would 
start  me  from  a  sofa-cushioned  home  into  canoes  and  tents? 
But,  if  you  disapprove,  you  must  just  scold  Neil  for  my 
faults;  he  is  responsible  for  most  of  them." 

But  the  young  wife  was  not  sure  she  did  disapprove. 
The  softly-tinted,  childish  face,  the  impulsive  manner 
and  romantic  fancy,  and  the  addition  of  a  keen,  worldly- 
wise  brain  when  business  matters  were  discussed,  made  up 


THE  LAKES  OF  THE  ARROWS.  41 

a  combination  new  to  Mrs.  Ewing,  and  always  touching  her 
to  kindly  appreciation  at  every  new  development  of  the 
girl's  character.  Her  queer  ways  all  seemed  such  harmless 
ones,  often  generous  ones,  as  the  troubled  little  woman  had 
been  given  proof  of  at  the  trading-post  where  she  was 
waiting  anxiously  for  word  from  her  husband;  and  Miss 
Raeforth,  learning  the  facts,  had  at  once  proposed  that  Mrs. 
Ewing  join  the  Raeforth  party  and  chaperone  the  young 
lady  herself  on  a  journey  to  the  place  where  the  desirable 
husband  was  located.  Otherwise,  Miss  Raeforth  must  wait 
in  dismal  solitude  the  return  of  her  uncle,  or  else  continue 
a  lonely  journey  to  the  coast  and  remain  there  until  he  saw 
fit  to  end  his  inspection  of  the  Kootenai  and  Big  Bend 
region.  That  had  really  been  the  plan  of  travel  when  they 
started  from  home,  but  the  younger  Raeforth  saw  fit  to 
change  her  plans  if  she  could  find  a  shadow  of  an  excuse, 
and  Mrs.  Ewing  seemed  a  very  providential  shadow  of  a 
pretext,  and  was  at  once  taken  advantage  of  by  the  young 
schemer. 

"  Make  extra  work  and  expense?  Yes,  of  course  it  will," 
she  agreed,  airily,  when  that  question  was  mentioned.  "  It 
will  take  a  couple  of  extra  warriors,  I  suppose,  to  carry  us 
over  the  rough  places,  and  some  extra  blankets  and  sheets 
and  things,  and  maybe  the  noble  reds  will  want  our  weight 
in  gold  for  the  trouble  we'll  be;  but  men  were  made  to 
wait  on  women,  my  dear,  and  dollars  were  made  round  so 
they  could  roll,  and  if  you'll  only  agree  to  come  along  and 
keep  me  in  countenance,  you  need  not  trouble  your  head 
about  the  pennies." 

And  so  did  the  two  strangers  begin  a  friendship  in  the 
northern  trading-town,  and  help  each  other  to  enjoy  every 
bit  of  beauty  they  passed  on  the  unquiet  bosom  of  the 
Columbia.  But  while  they  had  passed  several  groups  of 
Indians,  they  had  halted  for  converse  with  none,  though 


42  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

Mr.  Cottrell  had  informed  them  that  they  would  surely 
come  up  with  the  people  of  Chief  Simon,  who  had  made  a 
start  north,  but  could  not  have  yet  gone  beyond  the  mouth 
of  the  Kootenai;  and  after  much  questioning,  MissRaeforth 
learned  enough  of  the  old  chief  to  hesitate  not  at  all  in 
saying  "  Klahowyal"  to  him,  her  one  word  of  Chinook, 
while  the  chieftain  himself  had  just  about  as  extensive 
knowledge  of  English. 

But  the  girl  decided  one  did  not  need  to  know  their  lan- 
guage, as  she  and  Mrs.  Ewing  discussed  them,  and  as  the 
stars  came  out  one  by  one  and  sent  points  of  light  to  tem- 
per the  deepness,  and  complete  the  pictures  about  the 
Indian  camp.  Still,  bronze  faces  picked  out  in  color  by  the 
fitful  fire,  soft  tones  of  content,  against  which  the  words  of 
the  white  men  struck  with  the.  sound  of  metal  in  their 
voices;  and  then,  from  where  the  squaws  had  gone  to  bring 
some  fish  from  the  river,  the  two  watchers  heard  a  song, 
solemn,  yet  serene,  come  over  the  level  to  them — a  low 
breath  of  music  sung  in  childish  faith  and  in  English 
words,  for  many  of  their  hymns  have  been  translated  by 
the  priests,  and  both  renderings  sung  by  them.  Listening 
very  closely,  they  could  hear  that  it  was  a  hymn  to  a  guar- 
dian angel,  one  of  praise: 

"Oh,  angel,  ever  in  my  sight, 
How  lovely  must  thou  be 
To  leave  thy  home  in  heaven  to  guard 
A  little  child  like  me." 

The  weird,  pale  lights  that  yet  lay  against  the  sky  of  the 
north,  and  the  sweet  calls  of  the  night-birds  that  spoke  of 
peace,  perhaps  intensified  the  atmosphere  of  purity  that 
seemed  to  breathe  about  them.  The  breeze  from  the 
ancient  mystic  Lakes  of  the  Arrows  wafted  to  them  sugges- 
tions of  a  world  undefiled,  and  the  cheery  blaze  of  the 
camp-fire  where  the  children  of  the  forests  gathered,  and 


PAST    THE   PICTURED   ROCKS.  43 

the  hymn  to  their  guardian  angel  that  sounded  tenderly 
on  the  night,  completed  a  scene  and  an  impression  that 
stripped  Mr.  Cottrell's  statements  of  all  belief. 

"The  idea!"  said  Miss  Raeforth,  with  warm  contempt; 
"that  man  is  simply  too  stupid  to  appreciate  the  influence 
of  these  idyllic  surroundings — but  it  can  not  be  possible 
there  are  many  so  callous.  Those  devout  squaws  down 
there  make  me  feel  like  a  miserable  sinner.  Let  us  say  our 
prayers  and  go  to  sleep," 


CHAPTER  V. 

PAST  THE  PICTURED  ROCKS. 

BUT  she  did  not  look  like  a  soul  very  deep  in  the  convic- 
tion of  sin  next  morning,  as  she  ran  hither  and  thither  in 
the  dewy  freshness  of  the  new  day,  looking  herself  much 
like  a  picture  of  Aurora,  with  her  disk  of  golden  hair  fram- 
ing her  face,  and  winning  her  many  a  gaze  from  among 
the  dusky  neighbors  who  were  astir  before  the  dawn,  and 
were  getting  out  their  "garpoint"  eanoes  for  half  the 
hunters,  who  were  also  going  northward  over  the  waters. 

Among  them  went  Simon.  But  the  new-comers  noticed 
that  never  a  move  made  he  in  preparation;  the  youths  and 
the  squaws  could  glean  what  joy  they  might  from  the 
game  of  labor;  Simon  was  a  chief  and  would  have  none  of 
it,  though  he  finally  arose  from  his  after-breakfast  smoke, 
and,  crowned  by  a  cap  of  swan-skin,  walked  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  water,  where  he  entered  the  cockle-shell  of 
birch-bark  that  was  his  especial  conveyance,  and  led  the 


44  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

fleet  like  a  true  chieftain,  after  indicating  that  the  long 
canoe  of  the  strangers  should  come  next  his. 

"Can  you  imagine  yourself  in  North  America  and  in  the 
nineteenth  century? "  said  the  girl,  sotto  voce.  "  I  feel  as 
part  and  parcel  of  the  ancient  voyageurs  of  Eastern  Can- 
ada six  generations  ago,  only  we  should  have  left  offerings 
at  some  saint's  shrine  by  the  shore,  to  insure  the  safety  of 
our  souls  and  bodies,  and,  to  complete  the  illusion,  Chief 
Simon  should  lift  up  his  voice  in  some  French  river-song 
and  lead  us  along  by  music." 

But  their  leader  left  all  such  frivolity  to  children  or 
squaws,  and  made  a  most  grave  and  imposing  appearance 
as  he  moved  steadily,  and  seemingly  with  slight  effort, 
onward  and  upward,  over  the  lower  lake,  where,  in  olden 
times,  the  mystic  rocks  of  the  east  shore  decided  the  fort- 
unes of  the  tribe  for  the  season. 

Only  when  the  great  wall  was  reached  did  Simon  halt, 
holding  his  canoe  motionless  and  making  a  gesture  to  Mr. 
Raeforth,  and  then,  pointing  to  the  strange  face  of  the  rock 
that  rises  straight  a  hundred  feet  above  the  shore: 

"Yakwa!"  (here),  he  said;  and  then  Mr.  Cottrell  ex- 
plained that  the  wall  was  a  thing  of  unusual  interest  to  the 
lake  country  Indians.  The  night  before,  Simon  had  been 
drawn  into  speaking  of  it  to  Mr.  Raeforth,  seeming  pleased 
that  this  sacred  place  of  the  old  tribes  had  a  fame  that  had 
reached  far  into  the  white  man's  country.  And  the  ladies, 
hearing  its  legends,  looked  with  renewed  interest  at  the 
strange  cabalistic  characters  picked  in  red  upon  its  face. 
All  along  the  surface  small  holes,  like  eyes,  peered  out  at 
them  from  the  desolation  of  their  abode,  whose  meaning  is 
forgotten.  How  often  had  it  looked  fatefully  to  the  west 
over  the  circles  of  dusky  warriors  who  chanted  their  war- 
songs  in  its  shadows  and  showered  their  flights  of  arrows 
at  its  face!  How  often  has  it  echoed  with  glad  calls,  as 


PAST   THE    PICTURED   ROCKS.  45 

the  pierced  wall  held  fast  the  darts  they  have  sped  there! 
But,  if  their  tribute  was  refused,  and  a  greater  part  of  the 
arrows  could  find  no  cranny  to  lodge  in,  and  were  flung 
back  to  drift  down  the  waters,  then  were  seen  sad  but  re- 
signed faces  as  they  gathered  the  fallen  darts  which  warned 
them  to  beware  the  war-path  for  that  season,  as  the  god  of 
strife  would  surely  lend  strength  to  the  enemies  who  ranged 
to  the  east  of  the  lake  mountains. 

Many  other  legends  have  clustered  about  the  pictured 
rocks  marked  by  mystic  hands  of  the  past;  but  of  all  the 
others,  this  one  of  the  warrior-chants  and  the  fateful  arrows  is 
remembered  best  by  the  modern  tribes,  and  has  given  a 
name  to  the  beautiful  sheets  of  water  where  the  great  river 
grows  lazy  in  its  journey  and  creeps  with  cool  kisses  along 
the  pretty  beaches  or  the  ancient  walls  of  rock. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Miss  Raeforth,  as  she  glanced  at  the 
dark  faces,  "  if,  back  of  their  Christian  training,  there  lurks 
never  a  bit  of  pagan  prayer  as  they  pass  here?  If  I  could 
only  be  sure  of  it,  I  would  be  reconciled  to  so  many  civil- 
ized traits  that  are  upsetting  my  old  ideas  of  them." 

"  Are  you  longing  for  the  excitement  of  a  scalp-dance?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Ewing.  "For  my  part,  I  am  in  a  state  of 
wordless  gratitude  for  every  proof  of  their  very  advanced 
manner  of  life  here.  Milt  has  never  written  me  much  of 
the  Indians — I  suppose  he  sees  little  of  them  at  the  dig- 
gings; and  I  have  been  pleasantly  astonished  by  so  many 
things  about  them.  They  have  banished  half  my  terrors 
of  the  Indian  country;  and  when  the  railroad  crosses  this 
country — " 

"When  it  does,"  returned  her  host,  "you  will  likely  see 
the  same  thing  up  here  that  you  complained  of  near  the 
railroads  across  the  line — drunkenness,  beggary,  and  filth; 
nor  will  you  hear  hymns  to  the  guardian  angels  sung  by 
Indian  women  at  nightfall." 


46  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"That's  what  you  won't,"  agreed  Mr.  Cottrell.  "You 
can't,  no  matter  how  you  fix  it,  grow  red-skins  alongside  of 
steam-whistles  and  get  the  worth  of  your  money  out  o'  the 
investment.  They're  planned  different." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  they  take  kindly  to  mills  for  their  corn, 
and  modern  working  implements,"  protested  Miss  Raeforth, 
"  and  I  can't  see  any  harmful  effects  from  them.  They  are 
a  credit  to  many  a  lazy  white  man  who  has  been  bred  from 
numberless  generations  of  improved  stock." 

"Delia!"  admonished  her  uncle.  But  Mr.  Cottrell  nod- 
ded assent. 

"Yes,  that's  the  priests'  work,"  he  continued.  "They've 
only  been  among  these  reds  since  the  40*5,  but  something 
in  their  religion  gets  a  big  hold  on  them.  Why,  they  keep 
up  their  schools,  and  some  o'  the  bucks — and  squaws  too — 
are  turned  out  for  missionary  work.  Yes,  and  one  o'  this 
very  tribe,"  and  he  nodded  toward  Simon,  "  was  schooled 
fora  priest.  He  was  a  half-breed,  and  I  hear  he  is  raising — 
well,  roping  in  the  back-sliders  up  in  the  north.  That's 
where  all  the  outlaws  of  the  tribes  break  for,  you  know, 
and  that's  where  Henri  Mercier  picked  out  his  work.  I've 
a  notion,  though,  that  he  just  was  stuck  on  the  trail  and 
the  hunt  too  much  to  give  them  up  even  for  their  church, 
and  he  managed  it  to  have  them  both." 

"Tell  us  some  more  about  him,"  suggested  Miss  Delia. 
"  He  is  another  '  unexpected,'  and  if  we  cross  his  path,  I'll 
be  tempted  to  ask  to  have  my  sins  forgiven,  just  to  hear 
him  absolve  me  in  the  Indian  language." 

"Oh,  he  can  jabber  to  you  in  English  or  French  either," 
explained  their  guide.  "  His  father  was  French — one  of  the 
old-timers;  died  with  the  tribe  he  took  to.  A  good  man, 
and  a  tough  one.  The  boy's  the  same." 

"A  tough  priest!    Well!" 

"  Men  have  to  be  tough,  whether  they're  white  or  red, 


PAST   THE   PICTURED    ROCKS.  47 

to  stand  life  in  the  Big  Bend  winters,"  he  said,  and  then 
raised  his  voice  and  spoke  to  Chief  Simon,  who  yet  held  his 
place  in  the  stream,  and  rather  pleased  at  the  animated 
words  of  the  whites,  which  he  supposed  were  entirely  of  the 
mysterious  works  on  the  rocks  above  them;  and  he  looked 
none  the  less  pleased  when  Cottrell  asked,  "  Kah  le  plet, 
Henri,  alta?  "  (where  is  the  priest,  Henri,  at  this  time?) 

" Siah — si-ah"  (far  away);  and  he  swept  his  hand  to  the 
northwest.  "  Siwash  klahowyum,  hyin,  hyin  sick.  Henri 
yahwa  "  (Indians  that  are  miserable,  with  many,  many  sick. 
He  is  there). 

"Henri  is  his  nephew,"  explained  the  other,  "and  a 
family  is  honored  among  them  if  it  sends  anyone  as  a 
missionary,  or  if  one  is  picked  out  by  the  priests  to  train 
for  the  church.  That's  what  they  did  with  Mercier's  boy, 
and  you  can't  please  old  Simon  better  than  to  let  him  hear 
you  ask  about  Brother  Henri." 

And  even  at  the  sound  of  the  name  the  vanity  of  the  chief 
was  shown  by  the  complacent  glance  he  turned  on  them,  and 
then  with  deft  strokes  he  once  more  headed  the  van,  and 
turned  his  canoe  until  it  breasted  the  current,  speeding 
as  the  swans  do  over  the  fair  mirror  between  the  mountains. 

Many  more  bits  of  Indian  legend  were  burnished  up  by 
their  interpreter  and  recounted  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
ladies;  but  nothing  told  of  the  people  had  quite  so  much 
interest  for  Miss  Delia  as  had  the  story  of  the  Indian  boy 
who  had  promised  to  be  a  mighty  hunter  by  his  many 
exploits,  but  who  had  turned  from  the  trap  and  the  trail  to 
don  the  black  robe  of  the  church,  and  her  interest  was  in 
nowise  abated  when  she  learned  he  was  yet  young. 

"Take  care,"  admonished  Mrs.  Ewing.  "You  seem 
likely  to  fall  in  love  with  this  new  hero  before  you  see  him. 
Just  remember  a  few  of  the  half-breeds  you  have  seen,  and 
take  warning." 


48  SQUAW   fLOUISE. 

"  Don't  be  horrid!  If  I  want  to  dream  romantic  things 
among  these  romantic  surroundings,  do  let  me  have  a  chance. 
It  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I've  ever  been  allowed  a 
breath  outside  of  the  commonplace  world,  and  even  this 
Uncle  would  spoil,  if  he  could,  by  talking  of  pay-dirt  in  the 
gulches,  and  all  sorts  of  prosaic  things." 

But  her  uncle  only  looked  at  her  fondly  and  a  little 
teasingly. 

"To  hear  her  you  would  imagine  her  one  of  the  people 
who  thought  pay-dirt  and  the  ills  of  wealth  most  objec- 
tionable things,"  he  said,  turning  to  Mrs.  Ewing;  "but 
she  has  really  a  very  good  idea  of  business,  and  I  always 
suspect  her  of  hiding  stock  reports  between  the  leaves  of 
the  novels  she  pretends  to  read." 

He  was  a  rather  quiet  man,  this  Mr.  Raeforth,  whose 
eyes  twinkled  very  kindly  from  under  gray  brows,  but  whose 
smoothly-shaven  lips  did  not  seem  given  to  either  laughter 
or  jest — cool,  firm  lips,  suiting  well  the  idea  of  suppressed 
knowledge  that  his  silence  conveyed.  And  while  he  saw 
that  his  niece  had  all  things  conducive  to  her  comfort  and 
fancy,  it  was  done  with  so  little  of  demonstration  that  a 
stranger  could  not  have  guessed  which  of  the  two  attract- 
ive young  ladies  was  his  own  special  charge. 

"  Is  it  any  wonder,"  complained  his  niece,  "  that  I  rush 
into  numberless  romances  to  spice  life  with?  Uncle  is  a 
charming  companion,  if  one  can  talk  figures  with  him,  but, 
as  figures  are  facts,  I  have  to  get  relaxation  by  educating 
my  fancy  on  all  available  material,  and  I  am  simply  revel- 
ing in  the  scope  one  has  here.  Why,  we  have  not  passed 
even  a  mile  since  we  left  Little  Dalles  that  we  have  not 
heard  or  seen  something  unusual,  and  several  of  the 
unusual  things  have  been  charming.  And  then,  see  the 
collection  I  have  made!  " 

The  "  collection  "  was  the  fruit  of  a  tiny  box,  with  nothing 


PAST    THE   PICTURED    ROCKS.  4£ 

distinguishing  but  a  clicking  sound  that  escaped  from 
it  now  and  then,  if  something  especially  desirable  came 
within  range  of  Miss  Raeforth's  vision;  for  what  place  so 
isolated  but  that  the  modern  tourist  can  convey  the  pho- 
tographer's outfit  for  amateurs  into  it. 

Chief  Simon  was  several  times  depicted  in  the  little 
squares  that  were  to  be  developed  into  things  of  beauty — 
the  circle  of  canoes  about  the  pictured  rocks — the  scenes 
about  the  lodges  of  the  Colvilles — the  squaws  carrying 
water,  with  the  white  sheen  of  the  river  back  of  them,  and 
the  young  grass  about  their  feet — anything  and  everything 
of  the  new  life  that  appeared  to  her  fascinating — and  was 
surely  not  unpleasant  when  viewed  from  the  luxury  of  that 
young  lady's  personal  surroundings. 

"  Don't  you  feel  just  a  little  like  an  Indian  Cleopatra  on 
your  way  to  subdue  some  warrior  of  the  north? "  she  asked, 
after  pleased  contemplation  of  the  young  wife's  face;  "  for 
you  really  look  quite  royal  against  the  silver-gray  of  those 
robes." 

But  Mrs.  Ewing  only  laughed  happily.  "Your  romanc- 
ing must  always  have  such  grand  characters,"  she  objected. 
"  Can't  you  find  a  few  nearer  commonplace  content?  For 
I've  an  idea  that  Cleopatra  never  had  so  much  happiness 
in  all  her  gorgeous  life  as  you  are  trying  to  help  me  to,  and 
I'm  quite  sure  she  never  won  better  friends  on  so  lucky  a 
chance." 

"  Never  mind,  we'll  make  Antony  pay  tribute,"  threat- 
ened the  girl.  "  I  know  I  shall  depend  on  him  to  find  us  a 
big  tree  to  camp  in,  since  they  tell  us  ther.e  is  not  a  hotel 
at  the  place.  And  if  the  rest  of  this  country  and  inhab- 
itants are  as  pleasant  as  the  portion  we  have  seen,  I  may 
conclude  to  live  in  the  tree  until  you  get  through  your  in- 
spection trip.  What  would  you  say,  Uncle?" 

"Better  wait  and  see  what  Neil  says,"  he  suggested; 

4 


50  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

"  and  he  will  likely  have  some  prose,  instead  of  poetry,  to 
read  you  about  High-Low  as  an  abode  for  ladies." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  Mrs.  Ewing  is  to  abide  there — for 
awhile,  at  least." 

"Else  you  should  not,"  added  her  guardian.  "Little 
women  who  like  pioneering  should  provide  themselves  with 
just  the  sort  of  body-guard  that  is  to  be  surprised  by  her 
arrival." 

"  Give  me  time,  can't  you?  My  intention  is  to  provide 
myself  with  just  such  a  safeguard,  as  soon  as  I  can  find 
someone  to  say  'yes'  without  attaching  too  many  condi- 
tions to  the  bargain.  That  boy  of  Mercier's,  now,  he 
sounds  nice  and  promising.  But  that  selfish  black  robe! 
Ah,  well,  it  only  adds  one  more  to  the  tragedies  of  '  might 
have  beens.' " 

But  the  others  showed  little  of  belief  in  her  mockery. 
Mr.  Cottrell  gazed  at  her  rather  critically,  as  if  with  the 
endeavor  to  locate  her  in  any  class  of  ladies  he  had  ever 
known;  but  the  others,  recognizing  the  frivolity,  betook 
themselves  to  their  own  dreams,  and  she  was  left  to  her 
enjoyment  of  realities. 

And  among  them  was  the  dinner,  partaken  of  a  little 
way  up  from  the  pebbled  shore,  one  that  was  a  repetition 
of  their  breakfast  in  bill-of-fare;  and,  as  little  time  was 
given  to  its  consumption,  Mr.  Raeforth  had  but  a  limited 
space  of  time  to  give  the  Big  Bend  region  at  that  season, 
and  the  fairest  beauties  of  the  land  and  water  were  pushed 
past  hurriedly. 

Even  their  camps  for  the  night  were  left  for  late  seeking 
by  theiir  guides,  who  rowed  as  easily  by  the  light  of  stars, 
or  the  moon,  so  near  full,  as  by  the  June  sun  that  took  the 
chill  from  the  water. 

And  so  it  was  that  they  were  still  moving  as  they  passed 
through  the  narrows,  where  the  upper  lake  empties  with  a 


PAST    THE   PICTURED    ROCKS.  51 

great  rush  into  the  lower  water.  The  ascent  was  slow  and 
perilous,  but  the  desire  to  camp  on  the  upper  lake  pushed 
them  on  through  the  sunset  and  twilight,  not  willing  to  halt 
midway  in  the  narrow  and  reckless  channel.  But,  dark  as  it 
was  growing,  a  sudden  "Ki!"  from  Simon  aroused  his 
white  friends  to  the  fact  that  others  than  themselves  were 
on  the  rushing  water,  and  then,  from  the  shadows  above,  a 
canoe  darted  downward  on  the  current;  and  Miss  Rae- 
forth  could  have  touched  with  her  hand  a  white  stranger, 
reclining  in  the  boat  that  met  them  and  vanished  again 
quickly.  The  dark  boatman  called  greetings  to  some  of 
the  Indians  as  he  passed.  But  his  passenger  might  have 
been  a  ghost  for  all  notice  he  took  of  them — in  fact,  as  he 
was  facing  aft,  he  did  not  see  them  until  the  boats  had 
passed  each  other,  and  even  then  he  did  not  speak;  but  the 
questioning  gaze  of  Miss  Raeforth  did  receive  a  token  from 
a  raised  hat,  and  eyes  that  met  hers  in  swift  exchange  of 
amazement,  and  then  his  boat  darted  downward,  leaving 
with  her  the  impression  of  a  fair,  aristocratic  face,  old 
enough  to  look  tired,  and  young  enough  to  look  attractive — 
altogether,  so  vivid  a  contrast  to  the  "good  Indian  "  or  the 
bad  "squaw  man"  of  the  north  country  that  the  speculat- 
ive young  lady  asked  many  a  question  of  his  identity. 
But  that  he  was  probably  some  stray  from  the  mines  was 
the  only  suggestion  their  guide  could  give — an  idea  rather 
pleasant  to  the  feminine  ears. 

"  For  where  there  is  one  of  that  rather  pleasing  person- 
ality, there  is  likely  to  be  more,"  reasoned  the  youngest 
schemer,  "  and  the  place  less  likely  to  be  the  howling  wil- 
derness they  try  to  make  us  believe.  Only  I  can't  help 
wishing  that  such  as  this  handsome  unknown  would  await 
our  coming,  instead  of  flying  as  soon  as  we  take  the  trail 
there." 


52  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

REDNEY'S  VISITOR. 

LONG  after  the  moon  had  risen,  by  whose  light  Milt  was 
covering  the  rough  trail  down  the  river  to  the  canoes, 
Milt's  chum  was  yet  in  the  midst  of  renovations  and  male- 
dictions, and  about  him  was  chaos. 

"  If  I  only  had  time  to  knock  together  another  shack  to 
stow  things  in,  or  to  stow  that  Miss  Fresh  in.  She's  like 
to  locate  here,  an*  turn  up  her  nose  at  everything  we've 
got.  I'll  bet  her  nose  turns  up,  anyway,"  and  his  hand 
went  up  to  that  straight,  well-formed  feature  of  his  own 
face  with  a  good  deal  of  complacency.  "  Yes,  sir,  I'll  bet  she's 
a  little  snipe  with  a  turn-up  nose  that  can't  raise  her  hands 
to  help  herself  with — one  o*  the  squally,  scarey  sort  that  I 
seen  down  by  Victoria.  Name  just  sounds  that  way — 
Delia!  oh,  Delia!  "  and  the  words  were  emphasized  by  the 
broom  with  which  he  whisked  a  pile  of  chips  and  dust  into 
the  fire-place.  "Darned  if  I  sweep  any  when  she  comes. 
Miss  Dell — rhymes  with — " 

And  then  Redney  whistled  the  rhyme  to  his  own  satisfac- 
tion, rather  elated  to  find  a  mild  way  of  "  cussing  "  at  the 
unwelcome  guest  whom  he  was  confident  would  upset  the 
routine  of  their  lives. 

Mrs.  Nannie  was  different.  Nannie  and  that  baby  were 
wanted,  and  in  their  two-room  cabin  the  owners  felt  there 
was  just  room  enough  for  one  little  woman,  a  cradle  (Red- 
ney had  already  manufactured  that  article  of  furniture),  and 
themselves.  But  a  fifth  member  was  a  superfluity  to  the 
establishment,  and  the  housekeeper  got  what  revenge  he 


KIDNEY'S  VISITOR.  53 

could  by  making  up  his  mind  that  she  was  ugly  and  call- 
ing her  Miss  Fresh. 

But  growling  at  an  object  so  far  away  is  unsatisfactory 
work,  and  Redney  desisted  to  rest  and  nurse  the  new  pups 
which  he  was  treasuring  up  as  an  offering  to  the  baby. 
For  six  months  he  and  Ewing  had  been  together,  meeting 
by  chance  along  the  line  of  the  States,  and  throwing  their 
luck  and  work  together  to  develop  the  claim  Redney  hacj 
staked  out  the  summer  before,  up  in  the  Selkirks. 

Wealth  had  not  yet  come,  though  friendship  had,  and 
hope,  and  many  a  plan  for  the  future,  and  through  them  all 
sounded  the  name  of  Nannie,  Nannie,  on  the  boy's  ears; 
and  this  was  the  last  bachelor  night  for  the  cabin,  to-mor- 
row the  queen  would  rule. 

He  was  telling  the  pups  so,  and  watching  the  fire  fall 
lower  and  lower  on  the  hearth.  It  was  really  tima 
to  hunt  his  blankets,  and  he  was  just  telling  himselt 
so,  when  a  sound  from  without  sent  the  sleepiness  from 
him;  yet  it  was  a  very  slight  sound,  that  of  a  careful  step. 
It  was  the  slow  carefulness  that  interested  him.  The  pups 
were  tumbled,  blind  and  grunting,  into  their  nest  under  his 
bunk.  The  cabin  was  darker  than  the  moonlight  without, 
and,  slipping  to  the  window,  he  drew  back  with  a  quick 
exclamation,  as  another  face  appeared  there,  and  for  a 
second  the  two  pairs  of  eyes  peered  at  each  other  question- 
ingly.  Then  the  young  fellow  walked  to  the  door. 

"Why  don't  you  come  in?"  he  demanded;  "what  are 
you  scared  of,  anyway?  " 

And  she  came  in,  silent  as  a  shadow,  and  dropped  down 
on  the  hearth,  holding  out  her  hands  to  the  few  embers,  a 
shivering,  deprecating  form — squaw  filouise. 

"  I  saw  him  go — gallop,  gallop — the  man  you  like," 
she  said.  "  It  was  beyond  the  bend,  but  I  come — you  were- 
good  to  me — you — oh — " 


54  SQUAW    ^LOUISE. 

She  was  tremulous  as  well  as  shivering,  and  Redney 
threw  some  bark  on  the  fire,  looking  at  her  closely  in  the 
blaze  of  light,  and  drawing  her  closer  to  the  warmth. 

"  Cole  sick  ?"  (ague  or  chills),  he  demanded,  seeing  the 
face  that  had  grown  older,  paler,  in  some  way,  not  a  vestige 
left  of  the  red  devil  in  her  eyes,  but  tired,  so  tired! 

She  shook  her  head,  but  he  saw  that  her  lips  as  well  as 
the  hands  were  tremulous  now,  and  he  accordingly  put  a 
little  more  of  brusqueness  into  his  next  query. 

"  Hungry?  " 

She  did  not  speak  even  then,  only  looked  up  at  him;  and 
he  who  had  growled  all  the  evening  over  an  additional 
boarder  to  be  fed,  /.  e.,  Miss  Delia,  now  hustled  some  eata- 
bles out  of  the  provision-box  with  an  alacrity  that  sug- 
gested willingness.  And  the  girl  took  them;  she  seemed 
half-starved,  by  the  eagerness  with  which  she  ate,  though 
one-half  the  contents  of  the  plate  was  pushed  aside  ere 
she  began,  and  was  left  untouched  when  she  finished. 

"How  so?"  he  asked  in  Chinook,  and  pointed  to  the 
plate.  "  Plenty  here;  eat  it." 

But  she  shook  her  head. 

"]£louise  will  take  it  when  she  goes,"  she  answered; 
" not  now,  but  pretty  soon;  rest  now  a  little  while." 

He  handed  her  a  cup  of  coffee,  which  she  drank  and  seemed 
refreshed  by.  "  So  good,"  she  said,  in  the  soft  tones  of  the 
northern  Indian  that  would  make  the  voice  of  the  average 
American  sound  like  a  peacock's  in  comparison,  "  so  good!  " 

Redney  only  grunted  at  the  compliment  to  the  coffee,  and 
rolled  up  a  blanket  for  her  to  use  as  a  pillow. 

"  Rest,  then,"  he  said,  curtly,  as  if  to  temper  so  much 
consideration  with  some  sort  of  alloy;  "sleep." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  but  lay  there  with  closed  eyes 
-quite  awhile,  and  then  her  host,  glancing  at  her,  saw  that 
they  were  no  longer  closed,  but  were  watching  him. 


REDNEY'S  VISITOR.  55 

"What  did  you  do  to  him?"  he  asked  then,  and 
laughed  silently  when  she  signed  non-comprehension. 
•"  Don't  lie,"  he  advised.  "  Some  folks  told  me  you 
were  a  church  Indian,  and  the  priests  tell  them  not  to  lie, 
so  I'll  be  priest  and  you  can  confess  your  sins,"  he 
grinned.  "What  did  you  do  with  him?" 

She  looked  at  him  a  long  while,  and  then  she  said: 

"Put  him  in  the  mountain." 

"Planted  him!"  said  the  boy,  sotto  voce,  and  grinning  no 
longer.  He  was  looking  in  wonder  at  the  slight  girlish 
form,  and  the  face,  wan  and  refined  in  the  glimmering 
light,  and  the  slender  hands  that  looked  passive  and  weak 
just  now,  and  remembering  Dunbar's  physique,  he  realized 
what  strength  it  would  take  to  "  plant "  such  a  specimen 
of  mankind. 

"  Yourself — your  lone  self? " 

She  nodded.  "  He  walk  all,  all  the  way,  and  not  know. 
A  cover  I  made  for  him.  He  is  there,  so  still  now;  but  no 
bread,  no  meat  to  put  before  him,  so  I  come  to  you." 

Redney's  respect  for  her  increased  with  his  horror,  for  it 
was  a  bit  horrible  to  hear  so  young  a  thing  speak  with  so 
much  calmness  of  a  man  she  had  killed. 

"  I  said  you  had  pluck  that  night,  didn't  I?  and  you've  got 
it,  dead  loads  of  it.  But  you've  got  to  lay  low;  kumtucksl" 

She  nodded  that  she  understood. 

"They'll  be  after  you  like  hounds,"  he  went  on;  and 
then  remembering  the  strangers  who  were  to  come — "whew! 
won't  they,  now!  You  struck  the  right  trail  when  you 
dropped  in  here  to-night.  I'll  help  you;  yes,  sir.  You  just 
lay  low  for  awhile  and  I'll  find  some  trail  for  you  to  get 
through  on  dow.n  the  country.  Pity  you're  a  girl,"  and  he 
glanced  at  her  disapprovingly;  "  still,  you've  got  sand,  and 
that  counts.  But  you  don't  need  grub  to  give  him,  now 
he's  done  for." 


-56  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"  May  be  so,  may  be  not,"  and  tears  rose  to  her  eyes  and 
fell  one  by  one  unchecked  on  the  stone  hearth.  Redney 
was  perplexed.  This  was  not  "sand."  What  ailed  her? 

"  Oh,  let  up  on  the  melancholy,  can't  you?  If  stackin* 
grub  around  them  is  part  o'  your  religious  pow-wows,  stack 
away.  I'll  give  you  some,  only  don't  weaken  like  that. 
You're  played  out,  though,  an'  half-starved,  I  reckon. 
Where  have  you  been  eating  since  the  night — well,  when  I 
saw  you?  " 

"On  the  mountain — berries,  roots,  fish." 

"  Ever  since? " 

"Always;  I  hid  from  all  people." 

"  Even  the  princess? " 

She  nodded.  "  See  her  no  more, .  never!  Elouise  is 
alone." 

"  No  friends  nowhere? " 

"One,  far,  far  now,  may  be;  the  "Father"  now,  Priest 
Henri.  But  I  no  go  to  him." 

"Kerrect!  Them  priests  think  as  much  of  a  tenderfoot 
as  they  do  of  a  man.  Well,  you  are  in  a  box,  and  a  girl, 
too.  You've  got  as  little  to  anchor  to  as  I  have." 

"You  no  friends,  no  family?"  she  asked,  pityingly. 

"  Naw,  don't  want  any.  Got  Milt,  he's  plenty;  got  a 
daddy  somewhere  down  in  the  States.  Don't  take  stock  in 
him,  though.  He  shook  me  when  I  was  a  pappoose;  left  me 
at  a  shebang  for  a  board  bill  and  never  showed  up  again. 
I  was  about  four  years  old,  they  allowed  there,  and  I've 
been  my  own  man  ever  since.'* 

"And  they  call  you  Red? " 

"  Yes;  that's  'cause  he  let  out — my  daddy,  you  know — that 
my  mother  had  Indian  blood  in  her;  more  likely  nigger  by 
jny  hair,"  and  he  shook  the  long  tresses  forward,  showing 
the  wavy  tendency  in  their  blackness.  "  He'd  lived  among 
the  tribes  a  heap,  though.  Went  back  an'  got  another 


REDNEY'S  VISITOR.  57 

squaw  after  he  left  me,  so  I  heard  once.  I  used  to  think 
I'd  shoot  him  on  sight;  but  pshaw,  what's  the  odds!  Tramps 
like  him  leave  brats  all  over  the  range  an'  forget  all  about 
them.  Your  daddy  was  a  white  man,  too,  wasn't  he? 
You're  too  bleached  to  be  even  a  half-breed." 

"  La  Mestina  is  half;  my  father  was  white — white,  with 
curly  hair,  and  laughed  always.  '  Jolly,'  the  white  hunters 
called  him. 

"  That's  the  sort,"  remarked  Redney,  seriously.  "  I've 
seen  them.  They  do  the  laughing  an'  leave  someone  else 
to  do  the  crying.  Don't  reckon  the  princess  did  much  o 
that,  though." 

"Yes,"  contradicted  the  girl;  "much.  I  was  half  so  old 
as  now,  I  remember.  Then  she  turned  against  all  the 
church,  and  the  chief,  and  for  long  time  we  took  the  trail; 
go — go,  looking  for  him,  in  where  men  drank.  Then  she 
drank,  much,  much,  but  never  see  him.  Then  the  tribe 
cut  her  off,  though  she  was  La  Mestina.  She  never  go 
back,  she  never  find  the  Ha — Ha — Harte." 

The  boy  looked  at  her  with  startled  eyes  for  a  moment, 
and  then  asked: 

"  Harte?    Was  your  daddy's  name  Harte? " 

"  It  is  so.  Rubee,  she  called  him,  but  the  men  said  Harte. 
Just  how  white  he  was  I  remember,  and  how  curly  his 
hair." 

"  Yes." 

Redney's  hand  went  mechanically  up  to  his  own  hair, 
that  waved  and  curled  when  the  air  was  moist.  He  asked 
no  more  questions,  but  looked  with  a  new  interest  at  the 
girl  who  rested  there,  and  whose  hair  was  not  curly. 
Though  fair  in  face,  she  had  the  hair  and  features  of  Indian 
ancestry. 

"  But  I  talk  so  much,  I  stay  so  long,"  she  said,  rising  on 
her  elbow.  "  The  trail  is  long,  and — " 


58  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

She  staggered  a  little  as  she  arose,  and  Redney,  with  an 
air  of  proprietorship,  caught  her  arm. 

"  Easy  there!  Sit  down.  You  can't  take  a  trail  when 
you're  that  shaky.  You  just  locate  in  the  cabin  for  to- 
night." 

"  No,  oh,  no! "  and  she  stood  upright  again.  "  He  is 
there  all  alone.  I  come.  I  can  starve  a  little,  but  he — he 
is  not  used  to  that;  so  I  come.  I  will  work — fish — any- 
thing." 

"  We'll  look  after  the  work  another  day,"  said  the  young 
fellow;  and,  turning  away,  he  made  up  a  bundle  of  stuff 
for  her,  adding  a  small  flask  of  whisky,  as  he  thought  of 
the  trembling,  exhausted  figure  she  had  made  on  entrance. 
She  was  steadier  now;  the  bit  of  supper  had  been  of  help. 
But,  looking  at  her,  he  decided  that  her  brain  was  a  bit 
"touched."  That  was  why  she  persisted  so  that  the  dead 
man  must  not  be  left  without  something  to  eat.  Well,  it 
was  enough  to  upset  any  woman,  he  supposed,  and  she  was 
not  even  that,  only  a  girl;  and  against  her  the  justice  of  the 
law  that  asks  a  life  for  a  life. 

Redney  had  not  nearly  so  much  respect  for  the  law  as  he 
had  for  "  sand."  An  overhauling  of  his  moral  code  would 
have  suggested  the  need  of  a  missionary.  But  just  then 
he  knew  she  needed  help,  and  who  but  he  to  ask  for  it? 

"  It's  a  queer  go,  though,  her  coming  to  me,  me  being  the 
one  to  look  after  her.  Well,  darned  if  I'm  ashamed  of  her, 
anyway."  Then  to  her  he  said:  "Will  you  tell  me  where 
you  camp? " 

She  hesitated. 

"Don't,  if  you  don't  feel  like  it,"  he  added  quickly. 
"  But  you'd  better  tell  me  some  place  where  I  can  meet 
you,  or  leave  signs  for  you;  then  I'll  want  to  go  for  fish,  too." 

"  How  did  you  see  I  took  him?"  she  asked  suddenly, 
ignoring  his  speech,  though  looking  at  him. 


REDNEY'S  VISITOR.  59 

"  Moccasin-tracks — little,"  and  he  pointed  to  her  feet 
encased  in  skin  shoes,  "  on  tip-toe  under  the  window.  I 
rubbed  them  out." 

"  Yes,  through  the  window — like  here — I  looked.  Then 
he  talked,  talked,  but  the  other  man  never  hear.  I  hear. 
Then  by  an'  by  he  gets  up,  walks  over  other  man  through 
the  door.  I  just  whisper,  only  whisper,  an'  take  his  hand, 
an'  he  never  turned  back.  He  come  right  up  into  the 
mountain.  I  only  whisper — whisper!  " 

"  So  that  was  the  '  how,'  was  it?  Well,  that's  done  for; 
and  now,  where  can  I  locate  you? " 

"  You  know  the  Stegwaah  lamonti  (Thunder  mountain), 
and  the  tumwata?  (cascade) — there — at  the  foot,  every  day 
when  the  moccasin  can  cover  the  shadow — so,  filouise 
will  be.  You  come?  " 

"  Certain.  I'll  go  past  the  settlement  with  you  this  trip, 
too,  I  reckon.  I've  my  doubts  about  you  keeping  up  for 
the  trail.  I'll  carry  that  plunder.  Ready? " 

"  You  are  good,"  she  said  once  as  she  walked  beside  him. 
"  The  same  that  night  at  Antoine's,  I  saw." 

"  Didn't  allow  you  saw  anything  but  that  guzzling  ya- 
hoo that  won  you,"  remarked  Redney,  sourly,  remembering 
his  ill  thoughts  of  the  night,  and  the  girl's  eyes  with  the 
adoration  in  them.  But  he  said  nothing  further;  he  did 
not  question,  in  the  slightest,  her  deed  or  her  impulse. 
People  learn  not  to  ask  questions  in  outlawed  communi- 
ties, and  Redney  had  never  lived  in  any  other.  The  wonder 
was  that  so  much  of  boyishness  remained  with  him  through 
all  the  rough  life  he  had  struggled  in.  Milt  could  only  ex- 
plain it  to  himself  by  the  fact  that  whisky  had  no  charm 
for  him.  He  had  no  conscientious  scruples  about  the 
free  use  of  "lum,"  only  he  did  not  seem  to  take  to  it 
himself;  consequently,  if  there  were  any  sober  men  in  the 
gangs,  he  was  usually  with  them,  and  usually  liked,  and 


60  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

still  nick-named  "the  kid,"  though  he  must  have  been 
twenty,  at  least. 

The  pair  of  them  circled  the  settlement  like  stealthy 
ghosts.  Scarce  a  whisper  was  exchanged  between  them, 
though  Redney  noted  that  she  covered  the  trail  quickly  and 
kept  on  her  feet  better  than  he  had  thought  for. 

"  You'll  do.  You're  a  skookum  (brave  or  strong)  squaw,  even 
if  you  ain't  grown  up  yet,"  he  said,  as  she  halted  and  reached 
for  the  little  bundle,  signifying  that  she  would  go  on  alone. 

They  were  over  a  mile  from  the  camp  and  were  along 
the  river,  though  he  fancied  she  kept  to  it  for  a  blind. 

"I'll  go  on  to  the  cascade,  if  you  say  so;  it's  only  about 
a  mile." 

"No-,  you  go  home,  rest,"  she  said,  halting  to  rest  her- 
self ere  taking  the  pathless  way  to  her  hiding-place. 
"You  want  sleep." 

"  I  reckon — say,  filouise,  did  you  ever  know  any  white 
women?" 

She  drew  back  a  step  and  looked  at  him.  "  Down  there," 
with  a  contemptuous  fling  of  her  hand  toward  the  settle- 
ment— "them  I  see — the  Dutch  Liz — the — " 

"Ugh!  no,  they  ain't  what  I  mean,  he  interrupted; 
"they're  tough.  I  mean  women — the  sort  square  men 
marry;  Milt,  my  partner,  has  married  one.  She'll  be  here 
to-morrow — and  the  kid.  Lord!  if  you  hadn't  been  so — 
so  onlucky,  she'd  likely  done  you  a  heap  o'  good.  Women 
folks  is  what  you  ought  to  know." 

"  Nah! — don't  like  them — none,"  said  the  girl,  decidedly. 
"I  know — I  hear  the  hunters  talk — no  good." 

"You're  right  about  most  of  them,"  agreed  Redney,  as  if 
from  the  summit  of  mature  experience,  "but  some  are  dif- 
ferent. There's  one  to  come  to-morrow  that'll  be  a  show 
to  see  in  her  town  'get  up.'  I  don't  allow  she's  much 
account,  but  she's  white." 


REDNEY'S  VISITOR.  61 

"  You  know  the  woman?  " 

"  Naw — and  I  don't  want  to!  She's  a  little  snipe  with  a 
turned-up  nose,  I  hear  "  (hear!  oh,  Redney !) — "  and  I'll  likely 
have  to  camp  out  while  she  stays;  and  they  call  her  Dell — 
Delia." 

There  was  some  vicious  satisfaction  to  be  got  out  of  the 
contemptuous  repetition  of  the  name  he  thought  babyish, 
and  he  got  it  all. 

"  Dell?  "  and  the  girl  turned  to  him  quickly — "  Dell— that 
is  what  he — he — Neil  called  me  when  I  led  him  away. 
<Dell,'  he  said— 'little  Dell.'" 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  and  he  tried  to  laugh  and  failed,  facing 
her  wide,  questioning  eyes,  and  remembering,  with  a  bit  of 
a  shock,  that  the  Indian  filouise  and  the  Caucasian  Delia 
had  one  bit  of  interest  in  common — that  man;  then  an 
inspiration  led  him  into  an  adroit  lie. 

"  Why,  it  was  the  mines  he  meant — not  a  woman.  Lit- 
tle Dell  mine,  you  know;  that's  where  he's  been  for  months. 
I  allow  he  thought  he  was  on  the  trail  there." 

"Oh!"  she  breathed,  with  a  little  air  of  relief.  "Now 
klahowya  "  (good-by). 

She  was  about  to  leave  him,  when  suddenly  bits  of  noise 
came  to  them  through  the  silence,  and  without  a  word  they 
shrunk  together  in  the  shadow,  waiting. 

Then  each  relaxed  a  little  the  tension  of  nerves  as  the 
sound  of  paddles  and  horses'  feet  told  them  it  was  no  pursu- 
ing party,  and  it  was  meeting  instead  of  following.  A 
pleasant  party,  for  as  they  came  closer  a  woman's  clear 
laughter  came  to  them  on  the  night — laughter — and  canoes 
showing  in  the  moonlight.  One  was  close  in-shore,  and 
beside  it  rode  Redney's  partner. 

"Hello!  it's  Milt,"  gasped  Redney  in  amazement — "Milt 
and  the  whole  outfit.  Well  I'll  be !  " 

In   his  excitement   he    leaned   forward    more   than   he 


62  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

intended,  his  foot  slipped,  and  the  horseman  wheeled  with 
drawn  revolver  as  a  dark  form  pitched  forward  in  the  moon- 
light, making  a  crackling  in  the  brush  above  the  narrow 
strip  of  beach. 

"Hold  up,  there!"  came  gaspingly  from  the  shadows. 
"  I'm  no  grizzly." 

"  Redney!  Well,  what  in  the  mischief  are  you  doing  out 
here? " 

"  Come  for  a  walk,"  answered  the  youth,  righting  himself, 
and  glad  filouise  had  more  sense  than  himself  and  was  yet 
hidden  above  them,  "and  to  meet  you." 

"  Meet  me? "  and  Milt's  tones  had  nothing  of  doubt  but 
all  of  amazement  in  them.  "  And  what  blessed  Indian 
jugglery  told  you  I  had  met  the  canoes  coming  up? " 

Redney  smiled — a  smile  suggesting  all  that  was  myste- 
rious. He  was  quite  ready  to  be  thought  possessed  of  any 
occult  power  just  then  if  it  would  settle  queries  and  get  the 
party  on  a  move,  lest  that  girl  above  there  on  the  bank 
might  make  some  misstep  or  movement  that  would  betray 
her. 

"  Oh,  I  felt  it  in  my  bones;  "  and  then,  lower,  as  the  canoe 
moved  a  little  ahead,  "  How's  he?  " 

"  Great!  Nannie — Mrs.  Ewing  will  show  him  to  you. 
Go  closer." 

He  took  a  few  steps  with  the  intention  of  seeing  the 
storied  "  he,"  for  in  the  moonlight  he  could  see  a  lady  hold- 
ing in  her  arms  a  restless,  squirming  bundle — a  lady  who 
leaned  forward  smilingly  at  her  husband's  words;  and  then, 
right  across  her,  he  saw  another  face,  one  that  stopped 
him — a  pretty,  tired  face,  with  a  childish  mouth,  and  eyes 
that  were  gazing  very  intently,  even  in  a  startled  way,  right 
over  his  head  and  up  at  the  bank  from  which  he  had 
tumbled. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  he'll  keep  till  he  reaches  the  shack,"  he 


FAMILY   FOLKS   IN   HIGH-LOW.  63 

muttered,  backing  out.  "You  folks  ride  on,  Milt;  I'll  take 
the  nigh  trail." 

And  without  another  word  he  broke  into  the  brush  and 
left  them.  In  the  sudden  meeting  he  had  forgotten  the 
interloper — Delia;  the  instinctively  detested  one — Miss 
Fresh.  She  had  deigned  to  drop  her  eyes  to  him  for  one 
brief  instant,  but  the  gaze  had  a  quizzical  quality  that  made 
him  hate  her. 

He  had  met  the  enemy,  and  retired— routed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FAMILY    FOLKS   IN    HIGH-LOW. 

THE  social  atmosphere  of  High-Low  was  shaken  next 
morning  by  something  cyclonic.  Three  things  had  struck 
the  camp  in  the  night,  three  things  not  as  yet  recorded  in 
its  annals — a  capitalist  from  the  States,  ladyhood  twice  rep- 
resented, and  babyhood  once;  but  though  the  smallest  in 
bulk,  his  drawing  powers  as  an  attraction  were  stupendous- 
even  the  dainty  girl  who  held  him  as  often  as  his  mother 
gained  not  nearly  so  much  notice,  though  occasionally 
some  of  the  visitors  from  the  near  camps  did  look  enviously 
at  the  unconscious  son  and  heir  of  the  Ewing  establishment. 

But  they  said  little.  The  prospectors  were  mostly  French- 
Canadians  or  half-breeds,  and  these  new-comers  were  for- 
eigners in  a  way — from  down  across  that  invisible  line  that 
shuts  "  Americans  "  on  the  other  side,  where  some  of  them 
would  just  as  soon  have  had  the  Americans  stay.  Vast 
as  the  unexplored  territory  was  there,  a  dog-in-the-manger 


64  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

attitude  was  often  held  by  the  natives  toward  the  comers 
from  other  climes;  especially  those  from  across  that  south- 
ern line,  who  laughed  at  them  often,  and  talked  of  "  annex- 
ing" them,  much  as  one  would  suggest  a  guardian  for 
incapable  children — thereby  starting  many  a  small  war  that 
launched  its  participants  from  this  vale  of  fighting  shadows 
into  the  "Golden  Presently." 

Dunbar  had  been  one  exception  to  the  minds  of  these 
quick-tempered  northerners.  He  had  laughed  none  at 
their  squaw  men.  The  social  system  of  the  Canadian 
frontier  was  a  thing  to  commend  for  aught  any  of  the 
sensitive  ones  ever  heard  him  hint  to  the  contrary.  Ah! 
he  was  the  man  for  them — he — Gentleman  Neil! 

But  their  pleasant  one  was  no  more,  so  they  told  Cap- 
ital, as  represented  by  Mr.  J.  B.  Raeforth,  so  they  told 
Beauty,  as  represented  by  Miss  Delia  Raeforth. 

In  fact,  as  the  days  wore  on,  it  was  astonishing  how  much 
they  found  to  tell  her  of  their  opinions  on  the  question. 
Coming  up  in  wonderfully  conceived  attempts  at  full  dress, 
and  sitting  sheepishly  around,  would  say,  "  I  may  be  take 
the  trail  along  the  water  to-morrow,  may  be  bring  you 
news;"  or,  "  Mees,  we  go — me,  my  brother — up  where  the 
snow  is  for  the  mountain  goat.  It  may  happen  we  find 
your  relation." 

And  so,  instead  of  a  flying  trip  up  into  the  wilds,  the 
girl  from  the  East  stayed  on  and  on,  listening  to  strange 
tales  of  strange  disappearances  of  men  in  the  mountains, 
and  long  after,  when  they  were  about  forgotten,  some  had 
been  known  to  walk  back  into  camp  like  revived  Van 
Winkles,  having  only  "  cut  loose  "  for  a  change. 

"  He  is  not  found  dead — he  may  yet  be  living,"  Nannie 
assured  her,  and  Milt  assured  her;  and  Redney,  crowded  out 
of  the  house  into  a  hammock  under  a  shed,  grinned  at  his 
own  fancies,  but  offered  no  opinion,  notwithstanding  the 


FAMILY    FOLKS  IN    HIGH-LOW.  65 

fact  that  Miss  Delia  had  a  fashion  of  gazing  at  him  in  an 
inquiring  way  if  the  subject  were  under  discussion. 

"  That  young  Indian,  or  whatever  he  is,  always  impresses 
me  as  having  more  knowledge  of  poor  Neil  than  he  will 
tell,"  she  confided  to  Nannie.  But  Nannie's  negative  was 
emphatic. 

"Indeed  no.  Milt  says  he  is  a  splendid  fellow,  and 
devoted  to  a  friend,  though  he  is  a  little  shy  with  ladies. 
Poor  boy  never  knew  any  before.  But  he  knows  no  more 
of  Mr.  Dunbar  than  Milt  does.  There  was  so  little  to 
know — that  is — you  see — " 

And  then  Nannie  turned  her  attention  to  the  dinner  that 
was  in  preparation. 

The  winning  and  losing  of  the  princess  apparent  was  as 
yet  a  thing  unknown  to  the  girl.  "  Poor  Neil "  had  been 
suffering  from  brain  fever,  and  in  delirium  had  strayed 
away,  that  was  the  story  which  was  skimmed  over  for  her 
benefit. 

"  It's  noways  polite,  anyhow,  to  meet  ladies  the  minute 
they  strike  the  camp  with  a  hullabaloo  about  carousin'  an' 
cuttin',"  was  the  decision  of  the  gentleman  who  had  been 
Dunbar's  nurse;  "an'  watch  your  words,  anyway,  when 
you're  a  speakin'  o'  the  dead." 

But  Milt  had  told  Nannie,  and  that  little  lady  was  prop- 
erly shocked,  and  at  once  took  on  so  tender  and  pitying  a 
manner  to  Delia  that  Mr.  Raeforth,  after  his  quick,  busi- 
ness-like view  of  the  mine  up  the  country  and  some 
prospects  nearer  High-Low,  had  to  take  his  departure 
without  her. 

"  All  right,"  he  agreed,  amiably;  "  thought  you  wanted  to 
make  the  coast  trip,  though,  to  the  Mexico  diggings  But 
if  you're  bent  on  staying  with  Mrs.  Ewing,  make  out  a  list 
of  what  you  need  to  be  comfortable  and  I'll  send  it  from 
that  outfitting  place.  If  Neil  turns  up,  write,  and  if  he 
5 


66  SQUAW  fLOUlSE. 

don't,  don't  you  worry  yourself  thin  by  the  time  I  get 
back  for  you." 

And  as  she  was  an  obedient  child,  she  lost  neither  color 
nor  flesh,  only  noted  with  those  childish,  open  eyes  of  hers 
all  the  wild  life  about,  and  caught  sly  mischievous  impres- 
sions of  people  and  things  with  the  aid  of  the  amateur  pho- 
tographer's outfit,  a  thing  that  Redney  eyed  afar  off  and 
by  no  sort  of  persuasion  could  be  induced  to  get  in 
range  of.  In  fact,  his  presence  about  the  house  was  a 
scarce  article.  He  had  suggested  boarding  by  himself  up 
nearer  their  work,  but  his  partner's  wife  had  protested. 

"Am  I  such  a.  very  bad  cook,  then?"  she  asked;  "and 
how  am  I  to  manage  the  table  and  '  the  boy '  at  the  same 
time.  Miss  Delia  declares  he  watches  for  you  every  morn- 
ing." 

" Oh!  she  does,  does  she?" 

"And  she  says,  too,"  continued  the  little  lady  disap- 
provingly, "  that  you  don't  like  her.  Now  why  is  that,  Mr. 
Redney?  She  is  such  a  nice  lady." 

"Um!  hum!"  assented  Redney,  without  opening  his 
mouth;  and  then,  "  I  reckon  there  ain't  much  of  love  lost, 
nohow." 

"Why,  Redney,  she  likes  you;  indeed,  yes.  She  has  so 
many  pictures  already  of  you,  and  says  what  a  good  face 
yon  have  to  photograph,  and — " 

"  Huh! " 

Redney  stood  up  suddenly,  and  really  looked  very  tall  to 
Nannie,  who  was  not  at  all  so,  and  his  black  eyes  made  her 
remember  that,  after  all,  he  was  part  Indian,  and  if  he 
should  be  angry — 

"Oh!  it  was  for  fun  only,"  she  tried  to  explain;  "riot 
for  offense  at  all,  only — " 

But  Redney  was  gone.  It  was  morning,  not  nearly  th« 
time  for  the  moccasin  to  cover  the  shadow — /.  e.,  midday. 


FAMILY   FOLKS  IN   HIGH-LOW.  67 

Yet  he  struck  back  from  the  path  to  High-Low  or  other 
thoroughfares  where  men  walk  or  work.  He  turned  in  the 
direction  where  he  had  gone  daily  of  late — for  fish.  And 
Nannie  watched  him  go  with  misgivings.  Had  she  driven 
away  her  husband's  best  friend?  And  why  in  the  world 
need  he  glare  like  that  at  her? 

"  He  is  really  only  a  young  savage,  after  all,"  she  told 
Miss  Raeforth  later.  "  I  suppose  he  has  a  lot  of  superstitions 
against  picture-taking.  But  I  do  wonder  where  he  has 
flown  to? " 

"  Gone  to  see  his  girl,"  suggested  the  other. 

"Girl?    Why,  he  has  no  girl." 

"Hasn't  he?  Well,  then,  I  saw  him  once  when  he  had 
borrowed  some  other  fellow's  girl  for  a  moonlight  tryst." 

"  Nonsense!    Redncy?  " 

"Redney  it  was,"  laughed  the  girl,  "  and  I'll  not  tell  you 
another  word.  Do  you  suppose  that  young  gentleman  will 
go  through  life  without  winning  some  sweetheart  with  that 
handsome  face? " 

"  But  there  are  no — no  reputable  girls  here  for  the  boy 
to  know." 

"Then  I'm  much  afraid  your  'boy'  is  disreputable,  and 
I'm  afraid  also  that  you  forget  that  the  (  boy '  is  older  than 
you  are,  Mrs.  Nineteen,  at  least  he  looks  so.  And  why 
should  he  not  have  a  girl? " 

Was  it,  then,  a  girl  that  drew  his  feet  away  into  the  wild- 
ness  of  the  woods?  There  he  went,  anyway,  going  as  the 
bees  go,  straight  to  the  place  of  the  tumwata,  climbing  the 
steepness  of  the  northern  shelf.  But  once  there,  in  the 
shadow  where  the  water  sweeps  by  in  swift  whiteness,  he 
dropped  down  and  watched  it,  muttering,  as  was  his 
fashion,  his  face  flushing  warmly,  perhaps  angrily,  at  Mrs. 
Nannie's  revelations. 

And  there  iLlouise  came  to  him — came  down  from  abovej 


6b  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

in  •  her  hands  a  string  of  tzum  salmon  (speckled  trout)  and 
some  nooses  of  the  white  inner  bark  of  the  hickory,  her 
only  net. 

"Sick?"  she  asked,  quickly;  and  was  scarcely  assured 
when  he  grunted  a  negative. 

"  Till?  "  (tired). 

"  Not  much.  Just  crowded  out  o'  the  blankets.  Let  me 
be,  can't  you? " 

Which  she  did  until  the  silence  grew  unbearable,  and  he 
was  glad  to  break  it  himself. 

"  Look  here,  Louise,  when  are  you  ready  to  hit  the  trail 
down  there? "  and  he  pointed  to  the  south.  "  I'm  about 
ready  to  cut  loose — too  many  people  loafing  into  High-Low; 
an'  you  better  follow  suit." 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  little  troubled  look  at  his  state- 
ment. "No,  he  owns  me;  he  can't  go  yet;  I  must  stay." 

"Oh,  say,  look  here,"  he  said,  impatiently.  "When  the 
man's  dead  he  can't  own  you.  You  can't  follow  him  to 
hell,  even  if  you  want  to,  and  darned  if  I  don't  believe  that's 
what  you  would  like!  Just  like  a  fool  woman!  " 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  they  had  that  other  time 
when  he  had  spoken  of  Dunbar's  death. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  she  said,  simply. 

"S'pose — look  here,  now — s'pose  you  had  a — say  a 
brother,  that  would  get  you  out  o*  this  country  and  make  a 
livin'  for  you,  same  as  white  folks  have? " 

"I  have  no  brother;  and  even  then — " 

"You  wouldn't  shake  that  blamed  carcass  you've  got 
stowed  away  somewhere! "  he  burst  out,  wrathfully. 
"  That's  like  a  woman,  too,  I  s'pose." 

"And  you  don't  like  them  women? " 

'Like  them!    Well,  I — no,  I  don't,"  he  ended,  doggedly. 

"  Not  the  pretty  white  squaw,  even?  Ah,  you  should  like 
the  pretty  ones." 


FAMILY    FOLKS  IN    HIGH-LOW.  6& 

"Ugh!  she  ain't  pretty;  it's  only  the  clothes  and  things 
she  wears.  I  hain't  said  she  was  pretty."  . 

"No;  but  you  talk  of  her  much,"  said  the  girl,  dream- 
ily. "When  people  talk  of  each  other  long,  they  must 
think.  When  they  think  much,  there  is  no  hate,  not  much 
hate;  so  I  think." 

"Well,  think  again,"  he  growled,  with  a  very  red  face; 
"and  while  you're  at  it,  just  think  when  you'll  take  the 
trail  out  o'  this  hole  in  the  hill,  or  wherever  you  camp." 

"  May  be  not  at  all.  Do  not  be  angry,  not  you,  nika  tilli- 
kum  (my  friend).  Some  day  you  will  see  why.  I  am  his; 
that  is  all." 

"  But  he  don't  want  you  now,"  he  blurted  out,  brutally. 

"May  be  not;  may  be  some  day,"  was  the  sad,  patient 
reply;  and  Redney  arose. 

"Women  folks  at  High-Low  are  bad  enough;  you're 
worse,"  he  said,  tersely.  "  Give  me  the  fish." 

"There  are  also  the  skins,  six  of  the  marten." 

"  All  right;  what  do  you  want  for  them?" 

"Tea,  some,  little;  sapolil  (flour),  little.    Can  you?" 

"Oh,  I'll  get  it,"  he  said,  confidently,  "though  my  pard 
did  get  curious  over  that  salt  I  toted  from  Antoine's." 

"  Do  they  ask  of  him — of  me?  " 

"  No;  not  of  any  account." 

He  had  told  her  not  a  word  of  Neil's  anxious  friends. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  ^louise  was  a  bit  crazy  over 
the  question  of  being  owned  by  Dunbar,  but  how  could  he 
prove  that  mental  state  to  others?  In  no  way  he  could 
see.  All  he  could  do  was  to  keep  her  hidden  until  some 
chance  of  her  own  inclination  led  her  to  leave  with  him. 
For  if  she  was  ever  found  with  that  dead  body — ! 

Redney  stopped,  and  shivered  when  he  thought  of  what 
would  happen. 

"Listen,"  she  said,  as  he  turned  away;  "they  must  not 


70  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

track  you.  S'pose  you  come  only  every  six  days?  I  am 
strong  now.  I  can  hunt.  Only  sapolil  must  I  need.  The 
fish  I  will  leave  on  the  little  stream  every  morning. 

"  But  they  may  see  you." 

"  Not  filouise — not  when  alone." 

And  with  that  final  arrangement  he  turned  his  feet 
toward  the  camp  again — he,  Redney,  who  had  never  gone 
near  women,  and  was  now  decidedly  beset  by  the  annoy- 
ances two  of  the  creatures  were  daily  launching  at  him. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 
IKT  ELITE  (ONE  SLAVE). 

And  filouise?  Guileless  trust  was  surely  not  one  of  her 
traits,  despite  Redney's  kindness,  for  like  a  slim  snake  she 
crept  after  him,  just  keeping  far  enough  away  to  avoid 
him  if  he  turned,  and  watching  carefully  to  see  that  he  did 
not  turn.  Satisfied  at  last,  she  retraced  her  steps,  and  leav- 
ing their  place  of  meeting,  walked  carefully,  very  carefully, 
toward  the  source  of  the  stream.  Not  once  did  those  little 
moccasins  by  which  Redney  had  tracked  her  first  touch  soil 
if  stones  were  in  her  way.  Not  a  track  was  left  in  the 
wet  sands;  no  such  haste  moved  her  as  that  night  by 
Neil's  window.  Not  a  tuft  of  grass  with  its  gleams  of 
gold  at  the  roots  was  trampled  as  she  went  over  the  trail 
that  looked  as  if  never  disturbed  by  human  feet.  And  so 
still — so  still!  only  the  whimper  and  murmur  of  the  water 
turned  loose  by  the  mountain,  only  the  muffled  sound  of 
pheasants'  thunder  beating  against  the  silence,  a  sound 


IKT  ELITE  (ONE  SLAVE).  71 

that  accents  isolation.  Shy  birds  fluttered  up  into  the 
sunshine  from  their  ground-nests  and  slipped  back  again  to 
their  young  when  the  feet  had  passed,  and  the  young  human 
thing,  needing  motherhood  as  much  as  the  birds  in  nests, 
went  on  and  upward  thinking  not  any  of  that. 

Why  should  she?  Motherhood,  like  womanhood,  was  a 
thing  to  be  avoided  by  her.  All  she  had  known  of  them 
was  evil.  Men  were  better,  so  she  thought. 

None  would,  without  a  clew,  have  ever  thought  of 
searching  for  her  where  she  went.  If  all  High-Low  had 
turned  out  with  blood-hounds,  they  would  have  halted 
before  they  reached  the  end  of  her  trail;  for  where  the 
stream  dwindled  to  a  narrow  bit,  creeping  under  low  brush 
and  thick  with  tangled  vines,  the  moccasins  were  loosened, 
and  carrying  them,  she  bent  low  and  walked  in  the  water 
through  the  long,  leafy  tunnel — not  nearly  so  easy  a  thing  to 
do  as  to  tell  of,  for  dam-like  weaving  of  dead  limbs  crossed  het 
way  often,  the  wash  of  many  a  midsummer  torrent  July  sends 
down  from  the  snow-peaks,  and  over  them  and  through  them 
she  crept,  breaking  never  one  by  which  she  would  be  traced. 

And  emerging  from  it,  she  reached  a  bare  place  where 
stones  lay  loose  and  warm  in  the  sun,  and  on  them  she 
stepped  to  drive  away  the  chill  of  her  feet  from  that  walk 
through  the  shadows.  Many  a  one  would  have  halted 
there,  if  but  for  the  sake  of  the  view  that  spread  so  far 
below  —  mountain  past  mountain,  across  which  white 
clouds  drifted  as  they  were  drawn  up  from  the  valleys  at 
the  kiss  of  the  sun;  and  above  the  clouds  so  many  a  white 
crown  towered,  so  many  a  snowy  shoulder  bathed  in  the 
rose-light,  for  the  day  was  yet  young,  the  dusk  of  dawn 
scarce  driven  from  the  shadowy  clefts  away  below. 

The  girl  did  turn  for  one  satisfied  glance  over  it  all  as 
she  arose  from  adjusting  the  moccasins;  it  was  so  much 
her  own — all  that  beauty  which  seemed  to  uphold  the  sky. 


J2  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

No  other  than  herself  had  to  creep  like  this  to  their  deep 
wilderness,  asking  of  its  waters  the  fish,  of  its  jungles  the 
game.  Other  women  had  kindred;  other  girls  had  homes. 
She  had  only  her  bonds  to  the  master  that  Redney  had  dis- 
liked so.  Did  the  wild  things  know  all  of  her  bitter  need 
that  so  many  of  their  kind  came  slipping  into  her  nets  and 
nooses?  In  her  gratitude,  she  asked  those  questions; 
sometimes  she  asked  so  many  unanswerable  ones  there  in 
her  loneliness  and  uncertainty.  Perhaps  it  was  some  long- 
ing for  those  unanswered  things  which  had  given  her  eyes 
of  late  so  serious  a  wistfulness,  the  look  in  them  that  had 
puzzled  Redney  so  the  night  in  the  cabin.  He  finally  con- 
cluded it  was  the  grip  of  remorse  that  was  having  a  steady 
hold  of  her  up  on  the  peaks  there,  and  which  had  turned 
her  brain  just  enough  to  make  her  a  queer  one. 

A  queer  one!  And  the  boy  knew  no  more  than  herself 
that  she  was  a  thing  beautiful,  with  wild,  uncommon  grace. 
He  had  known  so  long  these  fairest  Indians  of  the  north, 
with  their  fineness  of  feature,  their  forms  of  symmetry,  and 
their  voices  of  velvet,  but  that  any  of  his  interest  had  first 
been  won  for  this  one  because  of  exceptionable  beauty  did 
not  once  occur  to  him.  He  growled  a  good  deal  at  her,  but  in 
spite  of  that  he  was  influenced  much  by  her  wishes,  and 
looked  at  her  much  in  sudden  discoveries  that  she  was  not 
quite  like  any  other  tenas  kloocheman  (little  squaw,  /.  e.,  girl) 
whom  he  had  ever  seen.  But  that  she  was  more  beautiful, 
he  never  told  himself;  nor  would  he  at  sight  of  snowy  fleets 
of  the  graceful  swan  that  breasted  Arrow  Lake,  or  at  the 
dainty  dignity  of  the  wood-dove,  or  the  pride,  yet  the  soft- 
ness, in  the  eyes  of  the  young  deer.  He  liked  to  see  these 
wild  creatures.  A  sense  of  completeness  was  with  him  as 
he  gazed,  but  he  could  scarcely  have  told  why.  Looking 
at  filouise,  he  had  much  of  the  same  feeling — she  was  only 
a  sister  to  those  others. 


IKT  ELITE  (ONE  SLAVE).  73 

And  to  her  nest  she  crept  quite  as  stealthily.  Not  a 
dainty-looking  nest,  either;  so  high  up  the  steeps,  with  an 
entrance  frowning  out  at  the  world  through  its  great  over- 
hanging shelf  of  rock  that  reached  out  portico-like  above 
a  porch  so  covered  with  vines  and  small  growths  that  one 
could  have  walked  above  and  around  with  never  a  guess 
that  below  there  was  a  dwelling-house,  while  from  under  a 
stone  near  the  entrance  bubbled  out  the  tiny  rill  that  was 
really  the  source  of  the  Tumwata  Creek  away  below. 

In  it  she  laid  the  fish  on  their  wand  of  light,  flexible 
wood,  fastening  it  by  a  stone  in  the  shadiest  place;  and 
for  an  instant  she  stood  just  inside  the  cave  entrance,  her 
head  bent  in  toward  the  shadows,  listening,  listening. 
Then  a  tender,  satisfied  smile  touched  her  lips,  her  eyes 
softening  as  when  something  well-beloved  crosses  the 
vision;  yet  her  glance  met  only  the  stone  portal.  She  was 
seeing  through  some  other  sense  than  the  visual. 

The  ashes  were  drawn  from  over  live  coals  close  to  the 
wall,  where  the  smoke-black  was  hidden  by  the  shadow; 
and  above  it,  far  up,  a  bit  of  zigzag  daylight  crept,  making 
a  better  chimney  than  the  dwellers  in  tepees  know.  On 
the  coals  she  dropped  bits  of  dry  bark  until  the  blaze  arose, 
and  over  it  twigs  and  broken  sticks,  which  vanish  in  hot 
ashes  so  quickly.  And  in  the  hot  ashes  what  delicious 
things  can  be  baked;  and  over  the  red  coals  how  crisply 
the  trout  browns. 

But  the  young  squaw  had  other  work  in  conjunction  with 
the  breakfast.  Some  white,  fibrous  roots,  strangely  aro- 
matic, were  mashed  and  beaten  on  a  flat  stone  until  they  were 
mere  creamy  pulp.  On  a  leaf  similar  to  the  plantain,  a  leaf 
already  wilted  in  the  sun  and  cooled  in  the  shadow,  she 
spread  the  preparation,  covering  it  deftly  with  another  of 
the  green  coats,  and  arose,  looking  with  a  bit  of  serious 
scrutiny  to  find  a  flaw  in  the  enveloped  preparation,  and 
noting  none,  passed  into  the  shadows. 


74  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

But  they  lasted  such  a  little  way,  just  around  a  jutting  bit  of 
rock  that  reached  like  a  pillar  from  floor  to  roof;  and  through 
the  wall  near  it  an  opening  up  near  the  top  let  in  light 
from  the  south  that  streamed  across  the  white,  sandy  floor 
and  flashed  on  glistening  atoms  of  crystals  in  the  rear  wall. 

It  lightened  also  the  niche  made  by  the  natural  partition, 
and  rested  on  the  man's  face  who  lay  on  the  low  bed  there. 
The  girl  knelt  beside  him,  with  an  inexplicable  look  in  the 
black  eyes,  an  odd,  un-Indian-like  tremble  of  the  red 
mouth  that  scarcely  prisoned  a  quick  sigh. 

And  either  the  mesmerism  of  her  gaze  or  else  that 
broken  breath  aroused  him,  for  with  a  grimace  of  pain  he 
moved  restlessly  and  opened  his  eyes — eyes  dazed  and 
questioning  as  he  met  those  of  the  girl,  who  no  longer  knelt 
beside  him,  for  at  his  first  movement  she  arose  and  stood 
erect,  impassive,  by  his  couch. 

"It  is  the  time  to  cool  your  shoulder,"  she  said,  quietly, 
"  so  I  have  come." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  he  assented.  "  You  did  it  before— 
yesterday?  I  saw  you,  I  know,  and  you  would  not  let  me 
talk.  When  was  that? " 

**  That  was  yesterday,"  she  nodded.  "  Sleep  is  better  than 
talk;  it  makes  you  strong  again." 

He  watched  her  face  dreamily  as  she  bent  above  him, 
removing  the  blackened  leaves  from  his  shoulder  and  plac- 
ing the  cool,  moist  ones  in  their  stead,  and  feeling  an 
exquisite  sense  of  ease  follow  the  touch  of  her  fingers. 

"Wish  you'd  sit  down  and  say  something,"  he  said,  and 
smiled  at  her  persuasively.  "  I've  got  all  sorts  of  queer  ideas 
of  you  tangled  up  in  my  head.  Seems  as  if  I've  seen  you 
bending  over  me  for  ages  and  ages — in  a  dozen  different 
lives;  always  bending  over,  never  sitting  down  or  talking; 
and  I  wish  you'd  scatter  some  of  these  crazy  fancies  by 
seating  yourself  just  once  and  saying  something." 


JKT  ELITE  (ONE  SLAVE).  75 

"  There  is  nothing  to  say,"  she  answered,  seating  herself 
obediently,  "  only  you  have  been  sick — head  sick,  shoulder 
sick;  both  held  the  fever.  Now  it  is  gone  you  must  have 
things  to  eat;  the  things  are  on  the  fire,  and  the  fire  will 
die  if  I  sit  long." 

"  Oh,  go  along,  then!  "  and  the  blue  eyes  with  the  great 
shadows  about  them  almost  laughed  at  her  passivity.  "  Only 
if  you  had  been  living  with  ghosts  through  a  fever,  or  what- 
ever it  was,  you'd  appreciate  having  something  of  flesh  and 
blood  to  look  at  for  a  change." 

She  made  no  answer,  only  obeyed  his  first  words  and 
went  out,  while  he  craned  his  neck  ineffectually  to  see 
where  the  door  was. 

"  I've  an  idea  that  I've  been  through  it  dozens  of  times, 
too,"  he  thought,  and  gazed  about  the  walls  that  looked 
familiar,  though  he  could  state  no  time  when  he  had  of  a 
certainty  seen  them  before.  There  was  a  puzzling  sense  of 
unreality  in  it  all,  but  any  quick  movement  dispelled  any 
shade  of  unreality  from  his  shoulder;  the  wound  there 
was  a  certainty.  "  And  the  most  puzzling  part  of  it  is  that 
I  have  so  little  remembrance  of  how  I  came  to  get  it — 
thanks  for  that  to  Antoine's  rum.  I  must  have  been 
beastly;"  and  pale  as  his  face  was,  it  grew  warm  at  his 
vague  reminiscences. 

He  remembered  buying  that  ticket  thirteen;  he  remem- 
bered wondering  what  in  the  world  he  would  do  with  his 
prize  when  won,  at  the  same  time  that  he  decided  she  would 
have  to  be  put  in  a  home  somewhere;  he  remembered  that, 
but  that  was  not  the  portion  of  the  night  at  which  he  blushed 
to  remember;  there  was  Cleve's  face  and  the  money — the 
last  dollar;  and  then — 

He  supposed  it  was  because  fiiouise  had  refused  to  go 
with  her  winner  that  Cleve  had  turned  on  him  in  a  rage. 
He  supposed  Cleve  was  drunk  too,  else  he  never  would 


76  SQUAW   £  LOUISE. 

have  broke  loose  like  that.  He  remembered  the  flash  of  a 
knife,  the  cut,  down  where  that  hurt  was,  so  deep,  and 
then  he  had  either  fainted  or  sobered  up,  for  he  had  no 
remembrance  of  anything  after  he  seized  Clevents  until  on 
that  cot  in  Collins'  cabin. 

Collins  had  thought  his  patient  still  delirious  when,  after 
a  long  stare  from  the  cot,  he  had  quietly  asked,  "  Did  I  kill 
Cleve?" 

The  gambler's  face  was  the  last  he  remembered.  It  had 
drifted  into  his  sick  fancies  as  an  accompaniment  of  that 
wound,  and  the  direction  of  his  fancies  was  proven  by  the 
question,  which  was  answered  by  the  nurse  as  he  thought 
the  patient  wanted  it. 

"Lord!  yes;  you  sent  him  to  the  smoky  range  in  good 
shape.  Now  take  a  snooze  and  you'll  feel  better." 

And  then  the  nurse  wondered  mightily  that  his  patient 
had  straightway  lapsed  again  into  unintelligible  jargon,  and 
that  his  fever  arose  several  degrees. 

And  after  that  had  passed,  ages  of  chaos,  with,  through  it 
all,  the  voice  of  an  old  sweetheart  that  called  to  him,  and 
ever  above  him  the  face  of  filouise,  that  was  such  a  silent, 
shadowy  sort  of  a  presence;  and  now  the  finale  of  it  all  was 
this  rock  wall,  with  the  warm  sunlight  making  a  golden 
glory  of  its  grayness,  and  even  here  was  filouise. 

How  to  account  for  it  all  he  did  not  know,  and  in  trying 
to  conjecture  he  only  brought  great  throbs  of  pain  to  his 
head  and  a  strange  confusion  to  his  brain;  and  when  the  girl 
came  back  he  lay  with  closed  eyes,  as  if  sleeping. 

"Here,"  she  said,  softly,  and  he  saw  her  as  he  had  in  his 
dreams — always  above  him;  and  in  her  hands  was  a  little 
trough  made  from  the  bark  of  a  sapling  and  filled  at  the 
ends  with  woven  reeds  that  were  water-tight.  "  The  water 
is  cold,"  and  she  touched  for  an  instant  his  forehead  with 
her  light  fingers;  "  it  is  good  for  you — bathe." 


IKT  ELITE  (ONE  SLAVE).  77 

But  at  his  first  awkward  attempt  to  reach  the  primitive 
basin  she  motioned  him  to  lie  down,  and  herself  wet  the 
dead  white  moss  which  she  used  as  a  sponge  by  tying  it  in 
a  little  sheaf  with  a  strip  of  fine  bark. 

"What  an  inventor  you  are,  ^louise,"  he  said,  lazily,  as 
the  cool  drops  touched  his  face.  "  I  can't  be  quite  sure 
whether  I'm  awake  or  dreaming;  but  if  you're  a  dream, 
you're  a  very  nice  one." 

She  seemed  not  to  hear,  or  the  only  sign  of  it  was  a 
slight  contraction  of  her  straight  brows — she  whose  eyes 
had  held  infinite  tenderness  when  he  lay  unconscious;  and 
she  drew  back  as  he  laid  his  hand  detainingly  on  hers. 

"Where  are  we?"  he  asked;  "I  can't  remember." 

"In  my  home — in  a  nook  of  a  mountain." 

"  No  one  else?    Just  you? " 

"And  you,"  she  completed;  "that  is  enough  till  you  are 
strong." 

"Will  you  tell  me  how  I  got  here?" 

"Walked.  I  walked  with  you  in  the  night.  Your  head 
was  sick,  and  the  man  who  watched  was  asleep;  then  you 
escaped." 

The  man  who  watched!  Then  his  impressions  were  cor- 
rect; he  had  been  guarded  there  in  Collins'  cabin.  He  did 
not  reflect  that  invalids  were  also  guarded;  he  was  thinking 
only  of  Collins'  words — of  the  unmistakable  criminality 
implied  by  them. 

"  Then  the  man  who  gave  me  this  was  killed? " 

She  only  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes,  and  all  the 
color  drifting  from  her  face — the  moment  she  had  feared 
through  days  and  nights  was  here. 

"  I  don't  remember  killing  him — did  I  get  the  knife,  or 
how?  But  I  was  drunk — drunk!  " 

Her  eyes,  avoiding  his,  turned  to  the  floor. 

"But  that  wouldn't  free  me  with  a  jury,  I  suppose,"  he 


78  SQUAW  £LOUISE. 

went  on.  "  Justice  would  give  a  man  an  extra  swing  of  the 
rope  on  that  account.  Did  you  think  of  that  when  you  hid 
me — you,  just  a  bit  of  a  girl?  Did  no  one  else  help?" 

"  No — other — knew." 

The  words  fell  with  slow  distinctness  from  her  lips.  She 
was  telling  no  lie,  but  fate  or  her  Manitou  was  doing  it  for 
her;  and  from  the  great  sickness  of  dread  that  was  over- 
whelming her  she  grasped  at  his  mistake,  as  one  in  a  whirl- 
pool of  waters  will  grasp  at  the  nearest  floating  thing, 
though  it  keep  him  up  but  for  a  breath. 

And  her  season  of  breath  was  given  to  her,  though  the 
beating  of  her  heart  seemed  choking  up  her  throat.  She 
was  dizzy,  and  put  out  one  hand  blindly  as  she  turned  and 
went  out  into  the  sunshine,  out  into  the  shimmer  of  leaves 
and  the  call  of  bird-songs,  where,  alone,  she  fell  on  her 
knees,  huddling  down  there,  whispering  over  and  over 
"  MasaJichie!  masahchie!  "  (evil — evil  I),  beating  her  breast 
at  every  repetition,  as  the  teaching  of  her  Roman  church 
made  natural  in  her  self-accusation.  But  at  heart,  after 
all,  she  was  still  a  pagan;  for,  rising  suddenly,  she  flung 
back  her  head,  reaching  out  her  arms  with  a  passionate 
gesture  of  appeal,  of  decision,  of  defiance. 

"  No,  I  can  not!  The  black  robes  (the  priests)  say  con- 
fess, repent,  else  the  curse  will  come.  I  try;  no  use.  See, 
Manitou!"  and  from  her  bosom  she  drew  the  little  black 
cross,  worn  since  baptism,  and,  closing  her  eyes,  flung  it  far 
out,  heeding  not  its  fall.  "  Now  I  am  yours;  fight  my  bat- 
tles against  the  curse.  See!  the  beak  of  the  eagle  drives 
out  lacloa  (the  cross.)  I  am  your  child  by  the  talisman — 
only  Indian,  nothing  else.  Help  me  in  evil  as  in  good.  I 
did  not  lie,  but  I  can  not  now  confess.  If  it  is  a  curse  for 
his  sake,  I  claim  it.  Only,  Manitou,  spirit  that  guards! 
close  his  ears  if  any  bird  should  carry  to  him  the  truth. 
That  is  all,  that  is  all,  Manitou!  " 


YOU   SOLD  ME!  79 

CHAPTER  IX. 

YOU    SOLD   ME  ! 

AFTER  that  morning  of  awakening  he  was  not  so  well; 
the  eager  life  rushing  back  in  such  haste  to  question — to 
confused  reasonings — had  left  him  weaker.  But  with  each 
sleep  that  fell  over  him  he  awakened  a  little  more  clear  in 
his  thoughts,  though  he  did  not  question  much.  He  knew 
now  why  he  was  hidden  away  so,  why  the  girl  who  made 
herself  his  servant  never  left  him  but  a  little  while  alone. 
Sometimes- he  wondered  that  she  should  have  done  all  this 
for  him;  but  generally,  with  the  passivity  of  fever  weak- 
ness, he  accepted  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"You  sick — much  sick;  it  is  a  shame  for  any  who  would 
not  help  the  sick,"  was  all  she  said,  trying  to  lessen  all 
importance  of  her  own  acts. 

"  You  are  a  better  Christian  than  I,  little  one,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  with  caressing  eyes.  "  I've  seen  many  a 
man  sick  without  giving  him  a  second  thought.  But  they 
always  told  me  you  were  'good  Indian;'  even  the  priests 
say  that,  don't  they?" 

"No,  they  will  not,"  she  said,  quietly;  "not  anymore. 
I  am  no  Christian.  See!  "  and  she  pointed  to  her  breast, 
where  the  feather  of  an  eagle  rose  and  fell  with  each 
breath,  while  above  it  the  beak  and  claw  swung  pendent. 
"This  is  of  the  Indian  prayer  (religion);  this  the  talisman 
of  my  Manitou." 

"  But  what  difference  between  the  Christian's  God  and 
the  Indian  Manitou?"  he  asked,  listlessly,  not  supposing5 
there  was  any;  but  she  answered,  sadly  enough: 


"  There  is  much.  The  God  of  the  church  helps  only  the 
good;  my  Manitou  helps  both  good  and  evil  hearts,  if  only 
they  are  strong  and  can  brave  much  for  him." 

"  And  can  you? " 

She  did  not  answer;  the  quizzical  tone  disturbed  her. 
She  never  had  ready  speech  for  people  who  laughed  at  the 
faiths;  and  her  thoughts  were  with  the  cross  flung  out  from 
her  among  the  quivering  aspen-leaves,  and  the  certainty 
that  the  curse  of  the  church  God  was  drawn  down  on  her 
by  the  act  that  chose  the  help  of  Manitou. 

She  was  braiding  the  green  split  wands  of  the  water-rush 
that  lay  in  coils  about  her.  The  days  would  come,  when 
the  sun  was  burning,  when,  to  gain  strength,  he  must  walk 
both  in  the  noon  and  the  dark,  and  she  was  making  a 
substitute  for  the  cloth  hat  left  back  there  in  High-Low. 

Somehow  she  had  never  looked  so  really  Indian  to  him 
before.  Had  Manitou  really  set  his  seal  on  her  with  that 
symbol  of  the  eagle's  claw?  Had  he  also  given  her  that 
shy  consciousness  of  self  which  he  could  not  remember  as 
a  part  of  the  little  half-breed  with  the  reckless  temper 
whom  he  had  known  a  year  ago? 

She  had  laughed  then — that  year  ago;  she  had  run  races 
like  a  boy  for  a  bit  of  silver  coin.  She  would  flash  back 
looks  of  rage  at  him  if  he  teased  her  as  she  held  his  horse 
at  Antoine's  door,  but  woe  unto  any  rash  Indian  youth  who 
endeavored  to  forestall  her  in  that  task.  More  than  once 
had  howls  broken  the  peace  of  High-Low,  and  scratches 
and  bites,  with  dire  threats,  had  left  her  triumphant  at  the 
door  of  the  hostelry. 

That  was  the  filouise  he  had  known,  a  fighting,  indus- 
trious little  vagabond,  contemptuous  of  her  mother,  yet 
doing  battle  for  her  valiantly,  fighting  with  any  who  dare 
ridicule  the  strong  weakness  of  that  personage.  But  this 
shy,  devoted  weaver  of  rushes  was  something  very  different. 


YOU   SOLD   ME!  81 

She  reminded  him  for  the  first  time  of  those  chaste- 
eyed  sisters  of  hers  whom  he  had  seen  once  in  the  lodges 
by  the  long  Lakes  of  the  Arrows — lodges  whose  people  have 
forgotten  the  ancient  pagan  rites  of  the  Kalispels  and,  with 
the  later  name  of  Colville,  have  taken  in  all  faith  the  cross 
of  Christ  from  the  hands  of  the  priesthood.  It  reaches 
them  in  many  a  lodge  of  the  wilderness,  and  under  its 
slender  shadow  is  lived  a  life  patriarchal  in  its  simplicity, 
undeviating  in  its  rules  of  duty  and  morality. 

He  had  admired  those  soft-toned,  seldom-speaking  Indian 
women,  who  had  looked  at  him  with  shy  good- will  but  would 
speak  to  him  not  at  all.  In  his  meeting  with  various  tribes 
or  clans  that  graceful  nation  remained  pre-eminent  for 
virtues  unexpected,  and  for  an  atmosphere  of  refinement  in 
their  womankind. 

He  remembered  them  when  looking  at  ^louise,  with  her 
downcast  eyes  and  deft  fingers,  and  thinking  of  their  beauty 
was  suddenly  conscious  of  hers. 

"  Did  you  live  here  alone  before  I  came?"  he  asked,  and 
felt  a  sense  of  pleasure  when  she  nodded  her  head. 

"All  but  one  day,"  she  added;  " that  day  Henri  come." 

"  Henri? " 

"He  is  'Father'  now — you  say  'priest;'  once  he  was 
only  Henri — a  boy,  and  was  a  good  hunter.  He  showed 
me  the  traps  to  make  when  I  was  still  little.  He  carried 
me  often  that  I  might  come  north  with  the  hunters." 

"  And  he  brought  you — here?  " 

She  looked  up  at  the  abrupt  speech  that  expressed 
annoyance. 

"  Brought?  No.  He  found  it  first  long  ago,  very  long, 
and  told  me.  He  thought  other  people  than  ours  had  lived 
here,  and  I  never  forgot.  Then  once — last  year — La  Mestina 
was  mad;  in  a  passion.  I  was  not  so  big  then,  but  I  ran 
away.  I  found  this  where  Henri  had  told  me  of.  I  was 

3 


82  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

all  alone.  I  was  happy  all  day.  I  wanted  never  to  go  back 
and  see  people  or  smell  rum.  Then  Henri  came  from  over 
the  mountain.  They  told  him  I  was  gone;  but  he  found 
me,"  and  she  smiled  at  the  thought  of  his  skill — "the  black 
robe  never  tangles  his  feet." 

"  I  know  the  one  you  mean — a  monk — a  half-breed?  " 

A  scarcely  perceptible  tone  of  depreciation  in  his  speech 
made  her  answer  quickly: 

"  It  is  so;  his  mother  was  all  Colville.  He  is  more  Indian 
than  me,  so  he  is  better  than  me." 

"  He  could  be  no  better  friend,"  he  asserted,  looking  at 
her  with  amused  eyes,  and  noting  the  flush  of  color  that  had 
swept  over  her  face  for  an  instant.  He  liked  her  best  when 
she  showed  temper.  He  understood  her  best.  "  But  how 
comes  it  that  your  valiant  friend  did  not  choose  the  trail 
and  the  trap  instead  of  the  black  gown?  He  should  have 
found  a  squaw  and  sat  in  his  own  tepee." 

"No — not  Henri,"  she  said.  "He  never  look  much  at 
squaws — only  at  me  when  I  was  little;  'little  eagle,'  he 
called  me,  like  a  boy.  Then  his  father,  who  was  good, 
wanted  to  give  what  was  best  to  the  church,  so  he  gave 
Henri;  that  is  how." 

"  A  very  interesting  '  how,'  too.  And  so  Henri  was  an 
offering  on  the  altar  of  this  Canadian  Abraham;  and  you?" 

"  Nothing  of  me.  We  were  cut  off  from  the  tribe  long 
ago.  La  Mestina  can  never  go  in  their  lodges,  though  of  the 
chief  blood.  Henri  was  tall  and  knew  much  when  we  saw 
him  again;  much  of  books  and  all  things.  But  he  is  never 
traitor  to  his  people.  He  comes  back  instead  of  to  stay 
where  the  towns  are.  The  hunters  call  him  'Le  plet  et 
lemolo' '[ 

"The  priest  of  the  wilds?  Well,  he  looks  it.  I  stumbled 
on  his  camp  once  when  he  was  coming  east  by  the  low 
pass.  Is  he  around  here  now? " 


YOU  SOLD  ME!  83 

"  May  be,  but  I  think  not.  It  is  long  since  I  have  seen 
him — when  the  birds  flew  south  last." 

"  Eh!  Why,  he  was  there — there  at  Antoine's  the  even- 
ing I  got  down  from  the  mines;  the  evening — " 

But  she  dropped  the  plaited  reeds,  turning  away  her  head 
with  a  little  gesture  of  protest,  and  he  checked  his  speech 
with  an  idea  that  she  felt  an  added  abasement  in  being 
gambled  away  in  presence  of  any  of  the  Pharisees  of  her 
mother's  people. 

"  Nevermind;  come  here!  "  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand 
from  the  couch.  "  He  had  left  for  the  mountains  before 
dark,  I  think.  But  no  matter  who  was  there,  you  must  not 
worry  now;  do  you  hear  me,  ISlouise?  I  will  be  strong  some 
day;  then  we  will  take  the  trail,  you  and  I.  We  will  go 
far,  to  the  very  end  of  the  Arrow  Lake  River,  and  then  on 
down  the  coast,  where  the  snow  never  falls,  where  the 
flowers  bloom  all  the  year,  where  no  one  of  the  Gold  Range 
or  the  Selkirk  hills  will  ever  come,  where  you  need  never 
work,  and  I  need  never  hide.  What  do  you  say,  my  lass 
Louise — is  it  yes? " 

She  did  not  touch  his  hand.  Something  in  her  heart 
ached  when  he  spoke  kindly  and  caressingly  to  her,  and  it 
was  most  natural  for  him  to  speak  to  all  women  in  that 
appealing  tone.  It  really  meant  less  from  him  than  most- 
men;  it  was  so  much  of  a  habit.  But  its  gentleness  over- 
whelmed her  with  a  sense  of  her  own  unworthiness,  she 
who  had  driven  that  knife  into  his  shoulder!  She  longed 
to  kneel  at  his  feet  and  confess.  Yet  the  first  actual  fear 
of  her  life  held  her  back,  and  in  the  complexity  of  emotion 
she  could  only  say,  dully: 

"Thou  the  chief,  filouise  the  slave;  and  the  trail  is  good 
for  you  to  take." 

"  That  sounds  well;  but  you  are  not  the  most  submissive 
slave  I've  ever  seen,"  and  he  looked  at  her  reproachfully* 


84  SQUAW  £LOUISE. 

"  How  is  it  you  will  not  even  touch  my  hand  now  that  I  am 
getting  better?  That  is  not  friendly." 

"Have  you  wanted  for  anything  I  could  get?  "  she  asked 
in  return;  "a  best  friend  can  do  only  what  he  is  able." 

"A  friend  would  take  my  hand,"  he  insisted,  curious  to 
know  what  her  strange  reserve  meant.  And  he  learned 
when  she  turned  her  black  eyes,  large  with  feeling,  on  him, 
a  mingling  of  love  and  rage,  of  pride  and  abasement  in  the 
glance. 

"You  sold  me  to  the  stranger,"  she  said,  and  walked 
away,  leaving  the  wet  rushes  unplaited  and  the  coil  of  braid 
looking  like  a  flat  green  snake  on  the  stone  floor. 

With  the  petulance  of  physical  weakness,  he  felt  angered 
at  her  leaving  him  like  that.  Her  sullen  briefness  left  him 
no  chance  of  apology,  of  explanation,  or  defense. 

"Has  she  just  remembered  it  now?"  he  asked  himself. 
"She  knew  it  all  the  time  I  was  helpless  here;  but  I  sup- 
pose it's  Indian  nature  to  hold  grudges." 

And  then  he  called  "^llouise!  ^louise!"  but  no  returning 
step  answered,  only  the  twittering  of  the  birds  that  built 
above  his  window  ceased  for  a  moment.  That  was  all  the 
notice  any  living  thing  took  of  his  voice. 

If  she  had  reproached  him,  as  he  felt  it  was  perfectly 
reasonable  to  expect;  had  complained  in  woman  fashion, 
and  in  the  same  fashion  let  herself  be  coaxed  into  forgiving 
and  forgetting;  if  she  had  done  like  that,  as  would  have 
done  the  greater  part  of  the  women  he  knew,  then  he  would 
have  understood  just  how  to  manage  her.  She  would  have 
sobbed  away  her  moody  anger  and  been  petted  into  smiles 
again,  and  the  miserable  days  of  hiding  would  have  become 
less  dreary  by  her  presence.  But  if  she  was  going  to  stand 
on  her  dignity  and  an  Indian  grudge  in  that  fashion — 

The  mark  of  the  sun  fell  from  the  wall  to  the  floor,  gild- 
ing the  pale  yellows  and  deep  greens  of  the  rushes  in  its 


YOU  SOLD  ME!  85 

passing,  and,  finally  withdrawing  its  lances  of  light,  sent 
within  only  its  reflections;  and  then  he  knew  the  noon  was 
near.  But  not  ISlouise. 

The  stillness  and  loneliness  of  those  rock  walls  were 
horrible  to  him.  He  liked  the  hills,  but  would  have  made 
a  poor  hermit.  Human  voices  and  laughter  were  the 
things  that  made  half  his  life;  the  crowds  and  the  contest 
of  wits,  and  the  genial  companionship  of  men  and  women — 
those  were  the  things  worth  living  among  to  him,  and  he 
chafed  against  the  need  to  stay  housed  there  with  a  fitfully 
sullen  Indian  as  an  only  companion.  And  the  worst  of  it 
all  was  the  debt  he  owed  her. 

For  even  in  his  impatience  at  her  he  did  not  forget  the 
slave-like  devotion  she  had  shown  him.  It  weighed  on  him 
— made  him  feel  contemptible,  remembering  his  last  game 
of  cards;  and  Mr.  Dunbar  was  little  given  to  taking  that 
view  of  himself — but  when  that  squaw  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  seem  anything  else. 

So  he  argued,  and  fretted  and  fumed  in  his  loneliness 
until,  with  much  thinking,  his  head  began  a  most  tumultu- 
ous throbbing.  He  was  feverish,  and  the  water  within 
reach  of  his  hand  had  stood  until  its  freshness  was  gone. 
He  longed,  as  though  in  a  desert,  for  the  cool  flow  of 
waters  unfettered,  and,  following  the  wish,  he  arose  and 
walked  slowly,  for  the  first  time,  at  midday,  out  through 
the  larger  room.  But  it  took  such  a  few  steps  to  make  the 
perspiration  break  out  with  a  little  chill  all  over  him;  and 
on  the  boughs  of  spruce  heaped  against  the  wall  he  sank 
dizzily  before  he  could  reach  the  entrance. 

"filouise!  filouise!"  he  whispered,  meaningly,  and  even 
in  his  weakness  thought  how  right  it  would  serve  her  to 
come  back  and  find  him  there — more  ill  through  her  deser- 
tion. She  would  be  sorry  then.  He  would  be  willing  to 
endure  the  sickening  weakness  for  that. 


86  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

But  she  did  not  come;  and  finding  a  stick  among  the  dry 
l>its  of  wood  in  the  corner,  he  used  it  as  a  cane,  and  with 
its  aid,  and  groping  along  the  wall  to  steady  himself,  he 
finally  reached  the  entrance  and  dropped  down  beside  the 
cool,  clear  rill  that  crept  from  the  shadows  there. 

It  was  luxurious  just  to  dash  the  water  up  and  feel  it 
splash  in  his  face,  and  drink  great  draughts  of  its  clear- 
ness; and  the  wind  was  blowing  briskly  from  the  west — the 
odorous  wind,  with  the  breath  of  the  ocean  mingled  with  it. 
It  and  the  cool  earth  and  the  immense  spread  of  mountain 
and  valley,  river  and  lakes  below  was  so  welcome  a  change 
that  he  did  not  attempt  to  move.  He  would  not  go  back 
to  that  rock  wall  alone;  in  his  weakness  he  had  a  morbid 
antipathy  to  the  very  comfortable  shelter — it  was  so  repel- 
ling; it  spoke  to  him  of  nothing  human;  and  with  filouise 
gone — no,  he  told  himself,  he  would  not  re-enter;  if  he  died 
from  dragging  himself  out  there — well,  he  would  die;  that 
was  all.  She  would  find  him  there  on  her  return — she 
•would  be  sorry — she — 

And  then  he  finished  his  determination  in  dreamland,  for 
the  exhaustion  of  the  little  walk,  aided  by  the  lulling  winds, 
had  brought  him  so  delicious  a  drowsiness  that  he  made  no 
attempt  to  fight  it  off. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  slept  hours — a  sleep  freer,  less 
dreamful  than  those  on  the  couch  in  the  cave.  Closing  his 
eyes  on  that  view  of  the  rock  wall  did  not  bespeak  abso- 
lute rest.  Sometimes  Clevents'  face,  calm  and  colorless, 
seemed  to  repeat  itself  in  the  shadows.  But  the  wind  had 
blown  away  that  specter — was  it  only  to  replace  it  by 
another? 

A  swift  chill  crept  over  him  as  he  asked  the  question  on 
awakening,  wondering  what  it  was  that  wakened  him,  any- 
way. Through  his  slumber  he  fancied  he  had  heard  a  little 
feminine  "oh!"  and  without  moving  he  opened  his  eyes, 


YOU  SOLD  ME!  87 

that  were  turned  up  to  the  sky,  and  there,  only  a  few  feet 
above  him,  bent  forward  another  thing  of  dreams — a  white- 
dressed  body,  with  tresses  of  yellowish  hair  showing  under 
a  white  hat.  He  did  not  see  the  wings,  but  had  a  convic- 
tion that  he  could  if  she  turned  around — which  she  did 
not. 

She  bent  above  there,  looking  down  at  him  with  curious, 
startled  eyes,  but  saying  never  a  word.  It  was  a  specter, 
without  doubt,  for  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  woman 
so  fair — so  white.  Only  children  sometimes  are  so;  but  this 
was  not  a  child,  either. 

Without  a  word,  he  tried  to  rise — to  get  closer.  He  did 
get  on  his  feet,  without  once  removing  his  eyes  from  those 
above,  though  the  white  form  seemed  to  draw  away — away! 

Then  the  bushes  at  which  he  grasped  crashed  under  his 
weight,  and  as  the  specter  fled  it  seemed  to  take  his  life 
with  it,  for  when  Louise  dragged  herself  up  the  mountain 
at  sunset,  he  was  still  there,  and  still  unconscious. 

When  he  reopened  his  eyes,  it  was  the  shadowy  rock 
roof  again  arching  above  him,  and  between  it  and  himself 
the  face  of  the  young  squaw,  who  turned  away  and  did  not 
speak  when  he  uttered  her  name.  He  did  not  guess  it  was 
to  hide  the  great  gladness,  so  near  tears,  that  shone  in  her 
eyes. 

"  You  are  here,  and  she — where  is  she? " 

She  turned  toward  him  at  that  question,  and  shook  her 
head. 

"  There  is  no  one  else — no  woman  here — or  is  it  a 
woman  you  mean?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  looked  at  her  long  and  wonderingly.  The  substitu- 
tion of  the  black-eyed  squaw  for  the  angelically  fair  face 
was  yet  an  unsolved  problem. 


88  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"  You  saw  no  one?  " 

The  girl  hesitated  before  speaking;  frank,  open  speech 
was  growing  rare  with  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  stayed  long  down  the  slope, 
because  there  were  people  on  the  mountain.  I  laid  low 
because  of  their  eyes." 

"Who?— tell  me." 

"A  miner  of  High-Low  and  his  wife,  and  then  some 
other  men  I  saw.  They  passed  me  close  in  the  brush, 
going  up  the  river.  They  took  the  west  trail,  that  leads  to 
the  top  on  the  other  side;  they  did  not  find  my  path." 

"  A  man's  wife?    All  in  white  clothes,  was  she?  " 

filouise  bent  over  him,  passing  her  cool  hands  over  his 
brow. 

"  No,"  she  said,  soothingly;  "  it  was  not  so.  The  woman 
dressed  dark;  only  the  child  had  a  dress  of  white.  It  was 
little;  it  slept  as  she  passed  on  the  horse.  Sleep  now;  it 
was  not  sleep  you  had  there  in  the  sun.  You  were  weak, 
and  the  sun  touched  your  head." 

"  Likely,"  he  agreed,  hopelessly.  "  Yes,  it  was  only  a 
fancy,  that  and  the  sun  that  made  me  ill — all  because  you 
left  me." 

He  had  only  just  then  remembered  that  she  had  left 
him;  but  she  knew  nothing  of  that,  and  her  voice  had  a 
tremulous  humility  in  it  as  she  bent  before  him. 

"  I  will  never  leave  you  again;  never,  until  you  wish  it," 
she  said. 


IN    THE   FORT    OF    THE   UNNAMED    NATION.  89 


CHAPTER    X. 

IN    THE   FORT    OF    THE    UNNAMED    NATION. 

FIRST  in  one  direction  and  then  in  another,  there  had 
been  more  concerted  sight-seeing  in  High-Low  than  ever 
before  in  the  history  of  that  ambitious  hamlet;  and  the 
number  of  its  leading  citizens  who  were  required  to  guard 
and  care  for  two  ladies  during  those  little  excursions  spoke 
much  for  the  terrors  of  the  district,  or  little  for  the  valor 
of  the  escort — if  their  services  were  among  the  necessary 
things. 

"  I  never  was  so  persistently  waited  on  in  my  life," 
declared  Miss  Raeforth,  "  nor  so  decidedly  bored.  The 
only  exception,  Mr.  Ewing,  is  that  shy  friend  of  yours. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  enchantment  of  distance  that  is  his,  but  I 
certainly  find  him  enchanting  above  all  others,  if  only  he 
would  grow  a  little  more  tame." 

Milt  Ewing  laughed  and  looked  down  at  the  bright  face 
of  his  wife's  friend.  He  was  not  wise  in  the  reading  of 
girlish  natures;  and  this  dainty  little  one,  with  her  affec- 
tionate, winning  ways  and  quizzical  speeches,  that  he 
always  felt  meant  either  more  or  less  than  she  said,  was  an 
unsolved  problem  to  him,  but  none  the  less  attractive. 

"  I  think  you  tease  poor  Redney  until  he's  afraid  to  come 
near  you,  for  it  can't  be  inclination  that  keeps  him  away." 

"  Don't  you  begin,"  she  laughed,  "  for  Mrs.  Nannie  and 
I  are  already  growing  dizzy  from  the  varied  compliments 
of  the  rest,  and  you  need  not  say  pretty  things  to  make 
amends  for  your  partner;  he  is  incorrigible.  Not  once 
has  he  been  gallant  enough  to  go  with  us  on  our  little 


90  SQUAW  £LOUISE. 

*  outings.'  I'm  going  to  ask  him  to  go  as  my  escort  next 
time,  and  see  if  he  will  refuse  such  a  pointed  invitation." 

But,  to  the  surprise  of  the  rest,  he  did  not.  When  Miss 
Delia  rode  forth  at  the  head  of  their  little  picnic  party, 
Redney  rode  beside  her;  not  quite  the  Redney  of  the 
house-cleaning  and  saleratus  days,  althougn  so  short  a 
time  had  passed  since  then.  A  sullen  sort  of  dignity  had 
given  him  added  age,  and  his  black  eyes  flashed  menacingly 
over  the  faces  of  the  others  as  he  rode  forward  to  join 
Miss  Delia  Raeforth.  If  any  of  them  had  dared  to  grin! 
But  they  did  not,  and  after  a  season  of  wary  watching,  his 
attitude  relaxed  somewhat,  and  in  the  gracious,  questioning 
presence  of  the  young  lady  he  became  almost  sociable. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  the  man}7  days  since  her  arrival  that 
she  had  heard  him  talk  —  his  flight  at  her  approach  had 
been  so  obvious. 

"  Why  would  you  not  go  with  us  last  week  on  our  little 
canoe-trip?"  she  asked,  with  a  determination  to  make  him 
talk;  his  voice  was  so  musical!  "We  only  went  a  little 
way,  just  far  enough  up  the  river  to  enjoy  a  fish  dinner  out 
of  doors.  But  we  wanted  you." 

"May  be  the  baby  did,"  he  agreed;  "but  there  was 
enough  of  you  to  take  care  of  him  without  me  along." 

"The  baby!  Do  you  suppose  Mrs.  Ewing  and  I  don't 
want  society  as  well  as  that  baby? " 

"  You've  got  the  whole  camp,"  he  said,  laconically;  "and 
I  have  not  heard  yet  where  you  are  all  bound  for  to-day." 

"Oh,  some  mountain.  I  get  the  names  jumbled  up, 
there  are  so  many;  but  there  is  a  lovely  cascade,  and  a 
wonderful  view,  and  it  is  not  far  away.  I  guess  no  one  in 
particular  is  guide,  but  they  all  seem  to  know  where  it  is." 

"Yes,  I  know  too,"  he  answered,  briefly,  and  turned  to 
Ewing. 

"  Is  it  Thunder  Mountain  you're  after?  " 


IN   THE   FORT   OF   THE   UNNAMED    NATION.  91 

"That's  it;  going  to  the  cascade,  and  fish  a  little  below. 
I've  never  seen  the  place,  but  Andy  knows  it." 

Andy  was  the  gentleman  who  had  proven  out  of  his 
element  as  a  watchful  nurse  for  Dunbar,  and  who  now 
looked  correct  as  a  temperance  lecturer  as  he  rode  near 
Mrs.  Ewing,  gorgeous  in  a  yellow  and  blue  striped  necktie, 
with  a  gleaming  bit  of  iron  pyrites  in  his  flannel  shirt- 
front.  Glancing  at  him,  Redney  felt  newly  conscious  of 
some  swell  additions  to  his  own  toilet  in  the  shape  of  a 
new  hat  and  the  finest,  highest  boots  that  had  ever  covered 
his  shapely  legs.  In  fact,  the  careful  arraying  of  the  outer 
man  was  having  a  boom  in  High-Low. 

"  What  trail  you  making  for?  "  he  asked,  and  sneered  a 
little  when  told. 

"  If  you  want  to  see  anything  worth  riding  for,  why  don't 
you  take  the  other  side  of  the  mountain? "  he  demanded. 
"  You  can  go  near  the  top  there  and  see  straight  west  to  the 
glaciers,  and  across  the  Columbia  to  the  Gold  Range.  If 
you've  been  tramping  the  valleys  and  water-courses,  it 
would  be  a  change." 

"But  there  is  no  trail  open,"  objected  Collins. 

Redney  looked  at  him  superciliously.  "Ain't  there?" 
remembering  that  gentleman's  slighting  remarks  on  his 
own  trail-hunting.  "  Well,  may  be  I  can  find  some  Indian 
jugglers  to  help  us  find  one." 

"  But  we'll  get  no  fish,"  said  Ewing. 

"  I'll  agree  to  find  you  a  fishing-place  if  you  want  to  see 
the  glaciers,"  said  Redney,  "and  I'll  put  you  on  a  trail 
that  the  horses  can  carry  you  over,  too;  a  trail  made  and 
given  the  '  go  by '  before  any  of  this  gang  saw  daylight. 
What  do  you  say? " 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Ewing,  looking  undecidedly  at 
Collins. 

"Why,  of  course,  we  want  to  see  the  glaciers  and  the  Gold 


92  bQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

Range,  and  the  old  trail,"  broke  in  Miss  Delia,  "and  if  we 
can  go  horseback  all  the  way  that  is  an  advantage,  is  it 
not?  We  can  not,  you  say,  to  the  cascades." 

And  what  man  among  them  would  cross  Miss  Delia's 
wish?  especially  when  seconded  in  a  mild  way  by  Mrs. 
Nannie,  who  was  influenced  by  the  promise  of  not  having 
any  walking  to  do. 

And  so  it  happened  that  instead  of  following  the  ways  of 
filouise,  the  heads  of  their  horses  were  turned  to  the  right, 
and  leaving  the  road  they  followed  Redney's  lead.  It 
took  them  straight  into  the  timber  that  reached  from  the 
mountain  down  to  the  edge  of  the  Columbia — great  giants 
of  the  wood  that  shaded  no  underbrush.  At  times  one  of 
the  fallen  would  bar  their  way  and  make  them  circle  its 
huge  trunk,  but  except  for  that  the  slope  was  much  like  a 
great  shaded  park,  cool,  and  fragrant  with  spicy  wood- 
scents.  Sometimes  they  would  cross  the  fern-feathered 
brooks  that  carry  the  cool  water  down  to  the  river,  and  on 
the  borders  of  some  the  ladies  insisted  on  dismounting  and 
seeing  with  their  own  eyes  the  show  of  "  color  "  caught  by 
the  grass-roots,  and  telling  of  gold  in  the  hills  above,  and, 
altogether,  Redney  received  several  words  of  commenda- 
tion for  leading  them  away  from  the  thick  brush  that 
grows  in  the  wake  of  forest-fires,  and  into  the  great  woods 
where  gigantic  pillars  uphold  the  green  roof. 

And  then,  where  a  great  green  hollow  went  up  into  the 
mountain,  their  guide  left  them — all  but  Miss  Delia,  who 
insisted  on  prospecting  too,  and  together  they  rode  up  along 
where  the  water  fell  in  white  and  green  cascades  over  many 
stones,  on  up  where  the  girl  could  see  never  a  trace  of 
former  travel,  until  an  isolated  rock  of  huge  proportions 
arose  like  an  impassable  barrier  ahead  of  them;  and  Redney 
gave  an  exclamation  of  satisfaction,  and  fired  two  shots  as 
signal  for  the  rest  to  follow. 


IN   THE   FORT   OF   THE    UNNAMED    NATION.  93 

"  But  how  are  we  to  ride  over  that? "  she  objected. 
"  Surely  this  can't  be  the  old  trail  where  you  said  we  ride 
all  the  way." 

"We  don't  go  over  it;  come,  I  will  show  you." 

And  following  him,  the  hoofs  of  their  horses  soon  struck 
a  floor  made  by  the  rock,  and  rode  into  what  seemed 
a  great  hall  that  arched  overhead  and  led  up  a  slight  incline; 
at  its  end  a  shimmer  of  green  showed. 

"  Why,  this  looks  like  a  tunnel  masons  would  make!  "  she 
exclaimed;  and  he  smiled  as  he  told  her  to  ride  close  to  the 
wall  and  note  the  marks  of  the  drills  still  plain  despite 
places  where  the  lichen  had  crept  on  the  flint-like  surface. 

"  May  be  there  were  masons  here  at  sometime,"  he  agreed; 
"they  pushed  a  good  road  through  this  pebble,  anyway.  I 
heard  an  old  prospector  say  they  must  have  had  a  fort  up 
here,  for  there's  a  rock  ledge  near  the  top  on  the  other  side, 
and  this  was  their  main  gate  to  the  whole  upper  mountain." 

"They?    Of  whom  are  you  speaking? " 

"We  don't  know  that.  Just  people  who  ranged  through 
here  once.  They've  left  some  signs,  but  no  one  knows 
their  name  rightly." 

"Indians? " 

He  nodded.     "Ages  and  ages  ago,  men  say." 

The  girl  rode  between  the  rock  walls  to  the  upper  end  of 
the  tunnel,  and  then  returned,  listening  to  the  clear,  bell-like 
ring  of  horse-shoes  on  the  rock  floor. 

"Why,  this  is  wonderful,  really  it  is!  You  must  tell  me 
more  of  the  signs  they  have  left;  and  is  there  never  a  one 
left  to  tell  of  their  race  or  nation?" 

"Well,"  he  admitted,  reluctantly,  "there  is  one  squaw  in 
the  Northwest  who  lets  on  to  know,  but  she's  a  rank  Indian 
witch,  and  her  word  ain't  a  thing  to  bet  on.  And  she  always 
swears  she  come  of  that  old  nation  herself,  but  she  never 
mentions  its  name;  it's  just  the  unnamed  nation." 


94  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"  And  you  knew  what  an  odd  old  place  you  were  bring- 
ing us  to,  but  never  mentioned  a  word  of  aught  but  the 
view?  "  she  asked,  wonderingly.  "The  view!  I  don't  know 
what  it  is  yet,  but  I  am  sure  your  unnamed  nation  is  much 
more  interesting.  Tell  me  some  more." 

"  There  is  no  more.  The  Indians  say  much,  but  no  one  is 
sure;  only  La  Mestina — " 

"Who  is  that?" 

"Just the  witch;  they  call  her  princess  yet,  though  she's 
outlawed,  and  drunk  most  of  the  time.  She's  of  the  chief 
line  of  the  Kalispels  that  turned  in  with  the  Colvilles.  She 
says  her  family  goes  back  through  Colville  and  Kalispel  and 
a  dozen  nations  that  have  changed  and  forgotten  their 
names — clear  on  back  to  the  ones  who  had  this  mountain. 
That's  what  she  claims,  and  no  Indian  denies  it.  Scared  of 
her  Manitou,  I  reckon." 

"  Manitou?  but  I  thought  these  tribes  had  given  up  the 
Indian  God." 

"  So  they  have,  all  but  some  stray  pagans — that's  what 
the  black  robes  call  them,  and  that's  what  the  old  princess 
is — a  pagan  from  away  back." 

"  And  where  does  she  live,  this  pagan  princess?  Are  we 
likely  to  see  her?  Can't  you  hunt  her  up  for  us?" 

"  I  can,  but  I  won't,"  said  Mr.  Redney,  concisely,  and  then 
glanced  at  her  darkly.  "  Do  you  want  her  picture  to  put 
alongside  of  mine  in  your  book? " 

"  I — well,  you  needn't  look  so  ferocious  about  it,"  she 
stammered.  "  I'm  sure  I'll  give  you  back  the  picture  if 
you  are  vexed  about  it.  Are  you  vexed? " 

He  only  looked  at  her,  and  then  turned  his  eyes  tran- 
quilly toward  the  trail  over  which  the  rest  of  the  party 
were  coming. 

"Well,  I  would  not  take  a  dislike  to  anyone  just  because 
they  wanted  my  photograph,"  she  said,  poutingly,  and  then 


IN    THE   FORT    OF   THE   UNNAMED    NATION.  95 

laughed;  "and  when  I  go  away  I  will  leave  you  the  biggest 
one  I  can  make  of  myself  in  exchange.  Will  that  weaken 
your  warlike  attitude  toward  me?  " 

"You  laugh  at  us  all  up  here,  just  like  you  will  laugh 
over  our  pictures  when  you  go  down  to  the  States,"  he  said, 
hotly.  "I  know  them  men  down  there,"  and  he  nodded 
toward  High-Low,  "are  fools.  They  think  it's  nice  if  you 
even  laugh  at  them.  I  don't." 

"  No  need  to  tell  me  that,"  she  declared,  a  little  more 
self-possessed  when  she  saw  him  lose  his  cooiness.  "  Laugh! 
Why,  I'll  soon  be  afraid  to  even  smile  in  the  same  province 
with  you,  though  you  can  laugh  yourself.  They  tell  me 
you  used  to,  but  you  won't  for  us.  Why?  Don't  you  like  us, 
Mr.  Redney? " 

"My  name  don't  happen  to  be  Mister,"  he  said,  briefly, 
ignoring  the  rest  of  her  chatter. 

"Well,  tell  me  what  it  is,  then.  I've  really  never  heard, 
except  your  nickname." 

He  hesitated  a  little,  and  then  answered:  "The  nick- 
name is  all  there  is  to  it.  Folks  in  the  diggings  are  satis- 
fied if  they  have  that  much  of  a  one,  and  can  stick  to  it." 

"But,"  persisted  the  inquisitive  young  person,  "haven't 
you  a — an  Indian  name,  anyway?  " 

"I  haven't  even  an  Indian  tribe,"  he  retorted.  "  I  may 
belong  to  the  people  who  made  this,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
rock  walls,  "  or  I  may  get  my  red  blood  from  the  Diggers 
or  the  Snakes." 

"Nonsense!  "  she  laughed;  "you  don't  believe  that,  and 
you  know  it.  I  would  sooner  believe  you  of  these  masons; 
and  it  may  be  so — why  not?  Since  there  is  no  other  heir  to 
their  greatness,  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  thinking  you 
one." 

"But  there  is  one,  filouise — "  Then  he  stopped.  It 
never  had  occurred  to  him  until  now  that  if  the  princess 


90  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

was  of  the  unnamed  nation  so  also  was  the  girl  who  crept 
like  a  thief  into  their  old  strongholds. 

"  £louise?    Who  is  that? " 

"  Another  squaw — La  Mestina's  daughter." 

"Oh!  "  and  the  glance  that  accompanied  the  word  sent  a 
flush  over  his  face.  "And  is  this  heiress  young,  and — 
pretty? " 

"I — I  don't  know.     Yes,  she  is;  she's  young." 

"But  you  will  not  speak  of  her  charms  to  strangers? 
Never  mind;  you  are  right  enough.  But  I  thought  she  was 
rather  pretty  myself." 

He  pretended  not  to  hear  or  understand  the  gay  signifi- 
cance of  her  speech.  The  rest  of  the  party  were  almost  in 
sight,  and  their  voices  drifted  up  through  the  whispers  of 
giant  spruce. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  after  a  little,  "  how  often  sentinels 
have  stood  like  this  and  listened  for  hostile  advances  from 
below?  Often  and  often,  I  suppose,  if  this  was  really  a  sort 
of  military  stronghold.  Can't  you  imagine  yourself  one  of 
those  sentinels? " 

"  Not  any,"  he  answered,  with  little  sign  of  sympathy  for 
her  fancy.  "  And  then,  if  old  Mestina  talks  straight  and 
is  posted,  this  never  was  a  fighting  fort,  but  a  refuge  place, 
a  place  where  the  murderers  and  that  sort  skipped  for,  so  she 
says;  a  tepee  of  Manitou,  I  reckon,  and  their  lances  couldn't 
cross  the  ledge  boundary.  All  Indian  lies,  I  reckon." 

"Well,  I  like  to  think  it  true,  anyway;  and,  you  know,  in 
olden  times  there  were  cities  of  refuge  like  that  in  the 
East;  the  Bible  tells  of  them.  So  why  should  there  not 
have  been  in  this  land?  I  don't  care  how  drunk  your  prin- 
cess gets,  I  want  to  see  her  if  she  tells  such  interesting 
stories  as  that.  I  am  delighted  that  you  brought  us  here." 

And  so  were  the  others,  as  they  rode  through  the  echoing 
tunnel  and  reached  the  land  above,  where  the  quivering 


IN    THE    FORT   OF   THE   UNNAMED   NATION.  97 

aspens  tossed  like  boughs  of  pale-tinted  bloom;  and  then 
on,  up  around  a  great  curve  where  of  old  the  trail  had  led, 
where  the  traces  of  it  yet  remained  in  the  deep  gully  that 
now  looked  like  the  stony  bed  of  a  dry  creek,  and  strangely 
clear  of  obstructions.  But  only  the  stones  and  slight  sift- 
ings  of  soil  were  on  that  part  of  the  mountain — no  heavy 
timber  to  be  blown  by  the  winds — and  in  places  one  could 
go  for  rods  with  never  a  hesitation  as  to  where  the  old 
trail  lay.  One  could  almost  fancy  the  spirit  feet  of  the 
dead  unnamed  nation  keeping  plain  the  path  through  their 
refuge.  Sometimes  it  led  them  along  the  top  of  the  ledge  that 
dropped  its  wall  thirty  feet  below.  Sometimes  it  was  nar- 
rower, but  never  enough  so  for  a  pass.  The  mountain 
seemed,  a  half-mile  from  its  summit,  to  be  girded  by  the 
invincible  terrace  that  had  kept  its  form  intact  through 
centuries. 

"  How  in  the  world  does  it  happen  that  High-Low 
knows  so  little  of  this?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ewing,  as  they  halted 
to  drink  at  a  spring  that  bubbled  up  through  white  peb- 
bles; "  not  one  of  you  have  I  ever  heard  mention  it." 

"  I've  heard  tell  of  it,"  acknowledged  Mr.  Collins,  "  but 
I  never  pinned  much  faith  in  it,  and  didn't  allow  it  was  so 
near  here,  anyway.  But  this  is  the  place,  I  reckon.  Big 
Medicine,  the  reds  call  it.  Did  they  tell  you?  "  he  asked, 
turning  to  the  young  guide. 

"May  be,"  he  returned;  and  then  pointed  out  what 
looked  like  a  bit  of  summer  sky  dropped  on  the  summit  of 
a  lower  hill  that  was  close  on  their  north. 

"  There  is  your  fishing-grounds,"  he  said.  "  There's  a 
little  pass  goes  down  to  it,  unless  it's  choked — so  they  tell 
me,  but  I  never  went  over.  Whether  the  rest  of  the  stories 
are  true  or  not,  the  Indians  never  fish  in  the  lake,  though 
they  say  it's  full  of  them;  but  some  old  witch  notion 
makes  all  tribes  leave  it  for  the  refugees." 
7 


98  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"  Then  for  to-day  we'll  be  the  refugees,"  said  Mr. 
Ewing,  briskly.  "  Up  where  those  dwarfish  trees  are  will 
be  a  good  dinner-site,  and  we'll  get  our  tackle  ready." 

Up  at  the  dwarfish  trees  they  were  above  every  wall 
that  shut  out  the  view.  Across  the  river  they  had  left 
below  them  arose  the  Gold  Range,  with  its  hills  piled 
upon  hills.  Beyond,  and  through  the  dips  or  passes,  the 
more  distant  waves  of  verdure  drifted  into  the  blue-green 
that  was  like  sea-ripples;  and  above  all,  that  scheme  of 
emeralds  and  palest  turquois,  the  glaciers  of  the  Selkirks, 
gleamed  north  and  south  of  them,  the  noonday  sun  striking 
them  into  slivers  of  white  light,  and  in  the  distance  tingeing 
them  with  warmest  opal. 

Ewing  turned  to  his  chum  in  irritation. 

"  What  have  you  been  hiding  all  this  for?  "  he  demanded. 
"  We've  been  here  for  months,  and  I've  never  heard  you 
mention  it." 

"  Forgot  to,  may  be." 

"  That  shows  what  a  heathen  red  you  really  are,"  was 
the  candid  retort,  flanked  by  a  smile  of  comradeship. 
41  Who  but  an  Indian  would  keep  quiet  about  such  a  bit  of 
•wonder? " 

"  Oh,  he  was  guarding  the  altars  of  his  ancestry," 
explained  Miss  Raeforth. 

"  And,  luckily  for  us,  grew  ashamed  of  his  selfishness  this 
morning,"  added  Mrs.  Ewing,  who  was  giving  a  final  pat 
to  the  bed  for  the  baby;  a  bed  so  soft,  and  so  fragrant  with 
spruce-boughs,  that  he  quickly  rolled  from  drowsiness  into 
sleep  on  it.  "  But  now  that  we  are  here,  do  get  some  of 
those  sacred  fish,  and  get  them  quick!  " 

Miss  Raeforth  went  with  the  fishing  party  as  far  as  the 
little  pass — a  natural  cleft  in  the  great  rock,  and  barely 
wide  enough  for  one  to  squeeze  through,  and  one  not  diffi- 
cult to  close  with  bowlders  against  the  outside  world. 


IN    THE   FORT   OF   THE   UNNAMED    NATION.  991 

It  was  all  like  enchanted  ground  to  her  curious  young 
eyes,  lifted  by  that  stone  terrace  above  the  commonplace 
world  they  had  left  in  High-Low,  and  the  scant  history 
given  by  their  guide  was  tantalizing. 

She  easily  found  her  way  back  to  the  camp,  where  Mr. 
Collins  was  already  gathering  twigs  and  all  sorts  of  com- 
bustible matter  to  fry  the  fish  with,  and  among  the  trio  was 
discussed  one  theory  after  another  regarding  the  extinct 
race  in  whose  domain  they  were  prowling,  when  the  girl 
suddenly  remembered  the  daughter  of  the  princess. 

"Mr.  Collins,  who  is  iClouise?"  she  asked;  and  Mrs. 
Ewing  gave  him  one  appealing  glance  and  felt  herself  grow 
pale. 

"  Why,  she— oh,  ^louise?  Well,  she's  just  a  squaw  that 
sort  o' — kind  o'  loafed  around  High-Low  a  spell.  Just  a 
half-breed  squaw." 

"  Pretty? " 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  hain't  ever  seen  the  man  yet  that 
said  she  was.  Squaws  generally  look  a  heap  alike.  She's 
just  like  the  others." 

"I've  seen  some  'others,'  as  we  passed  the  Colvilles,. 
that  were  not  all  alike,"  she  persisted.  "  Some  fairer  than 
any  of  the  States  Indians;  in  fact,  they  were  the  first  ones 
I've  ever  seen  that  suggested  Fenimore  Cooper." 

"  Was  he  a  reservation  red? " 

And,  in  the  girl's  laughter  and  the  matron's  attempt  at 
explanation,  the  latter  breathed  more  freely,  seeing  the 
danger  drift  by  for  one  more  time. 

She  could  scarcely  tell  how  it  had  begun — that  decep- 
tion of  the  young  girl;  but  one  thing  sure,  no  one  imag- 
ined it  would  have  to  be  kept  up  so  long.  Mr.  Raeforth 
was  making  but  a  flying  trip,  not  stopping  at  the  mine 
forty-eight  hours,  and  at  High-Low  barely  two.  He  had 
heard  a  version  of  "drinking  a  little — Dunbar  gambled 


100  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

and  had  trouble  over  the  stakes;  cut  some  by  an  Indian, 
and  had  a  spell  of  fever;  went  off  his  base  and  took  a 
moonlight  flitting;  most  likely  dead  in  the  brush." 

And  that  was  all  the  principal  stockholder  in  the  Little 
Dell  heard.  The  social  lights  of  High-Low  had  no  notion 
of  letting  capital  think  they  had  an  objectionable  hamlet. 
On  as  slight  a  thing  as  a  chance  visit  has  the  scale  tipped 
for  a  camp  and  a  boom  of  prosperity  commenced.  High- 
Low  needed  the  boom — needed  it  bad,  decided  the  city 
fathers,  and  should  a  chance  stroke  over  a  game  be  allowed 
to  dim  its  future  glory? 

Some  of  the  more  jealous,  eying  the  clerical  black  that 
adorned  capital  when  its  duster  was  removed,  suggested  the 
advisability  of  trying  to  bribe  Miss  Lou  and  Miss  Liz,  and 
the  various  breeds  of  their  various  sisters,  into  a  vow  of 
strict  retirement  while  the  speculator  was  seeing  the  town, 
that  he  might  be  "  played  "  on  its  moral  aspect. 

But,  sad  to  relate,  the  feminine  residents  refused  to  take 
a  hand  in  the  moral  game;  the  gentlemen  had  to  play  it 
alone,  and  with  doubtful  success.  Mr.  Raeforth  showed 
very  little  interest  in  the  probable  future  of  the  settlement. 
He  had  to  get  back  to  reach  the  Pacific  Coast  in  as  short  a 
space  of  time  as  possible  to  meet  other  speculators  with 
whom  he  was  to  make  a  Mexican  tour  of  inspection,  and 
did  not  seem  greatly  vexed  that  Miss  Delia,  at  the  last 
moment,  decided  to  remain  north.  He  did  halt  long 
enough  to  offer  a  reward  for  the  recovery  of  Dunbar,  who 
had  been  the  adopted  son  of  his  sister,  and  who,  leaving 
him  penniless  at  her  death,  had  begged  her  brother  to 
encourage  the  childish  liking  betwen  Delia  and  the  boy, 
and  had  only  died  contented  when  promised  that  if  Delia 
objected  an  allowance  should  be  set  aside  from  her  inher- 
itance that  would  allow  the  young  fellow  to  continue  life 
among  the  comparatively  well-to-do.  "  That  is,  if  he  is  not 


IN    THE   FORT   OF   THE   UNNAMED    NATION.  101 

lazy,"  stipulated  the  Jove  of  the  occasion;  and  the  young 
fellow  proved  so  far  from  that,  that  he  grasped  eagerly  at 
the  offer  of  Western  experience  and  work.  And  Mr.  Rae- 
forth,  seeing  that  the  liking  of  the  young  folks  was  lessen- 
ing all  possibility  of  the  allowance,  let  the  responsibility  of 
the  lad's  future  fall  off  his  shoulders. 

Three  years  had  passed  since  they  had  seen  him  at  all, 
three  years  that  had  changed  the  hoydenish  little  girl  of 
short  skirts  and  adoring  eyes  into  a  less  demonstrative 
little  girl  in  longer  skirts  and  an  ingrained  appreciation  of 
the  romantic  in  her  mind;  and  all  her  romances  for  many 
years  had  held  but  one  hero — the  handsome  fellow  who 
had  lifted  her  off  her  feet  to  say  good-by  just  as  he  had 
done  when  she  was  very  little,  and  who  said  as  he  kissed 
her  that  he  would  not  dare  come  in  reach  of  her  again  for 
four  years,  else  he  would  certainly  elope  with  her  instead 
of  waiting  for  the  socially  correct  wedding;  and  that  would 
never  do,  for  Delia  was  tabooed  from  marriage  until  she 
was  nineteen,  the  only  restriction  laid  on  her  by  her  father's 
will  in  conjunction  with  the  very  neat  little  property  that 
Uncle  Raeforth  had  cleverly  doubled  and  doubled  again 
many  times,  until  Delia  was  probably  heiress  to  more  than 
she  knew  of. 

But  if  she  cared  for  its  advantages,  it  was  more  for  the 
future  than  the  present,  more  for  the  time  when  her  hand- 
some, winning  fiance  should  share  it  with  her,  should  come 
back  from  the  wilds  with  the  charm  of  adventure  add- 
ing to  his  glory  in  her  eyes;  then,  indeed,  wealth  would  be 
good  to  have.  Wealth  can  buy  success,  social  or  political, 
when  accompanied  by  the  merits  Delia  felt  sure  that  Neil 
possessed;  and  so  Miss  Delia  dreamed  worldly  dreams 
that  were  in  odd  contrast  to  the  unworldly  romances  she 
gave  him  part  in;  and  his  strange  disappearance  had  in 
itself  an  element  of  the  romantic  that  was  not  unpleasing, 


102  SQUAW  •& LOUISE. 

if  only  he  returned.  It  was  not  improbable  that  she  her. 
self  was  mentally  posing  a  little  because  of  the  sad  finale 
of  her  quest;  and  to  end  it  according  to  all  correct  rules  of 
her  fancy,  he  must  return  after  all,  and  her  faith  be 
rewarded  by  a  meeting  much  more  interesting  than  any 
heretofore  chronicled  by  novelist. 

And  so  this  very  petite,  very  practical  romancer  gathered 
plans  to  herself  through  her  days  of  outing,  and,  despite 
the  shakings  of  several  heads,  persisted  in  watching  for  him, 
and  opened  many  times  a  locket  she  wore  and  looked  at 
the  gay  face  pictured  there — a  face  with  laughing  eyes  and 
curled  lips,  and  never  even  a  mustache  to  shadow  the  correct 
features. 

"Of  course  he  has  changed  in  three  years;  so  have  I — a 
little,"  she  told  Mrs.  Ewing,  who  admired  the  face  to  Miss 
Delia's  satisfaction.  "  He  wrote  me  last  year  he  was  wear- 
ing '  mustachios,'  but  I  know  no  such  adornment  will  change 
his  face  much — not  enough  to  be  mistaken  for  any  other. 
I  should  know  him  if  I  could  see  only  his  eyes  peeping 
through  a  chink  in  our  cabin;  and  that's  how  he  will  come 
back,  Mrs.  Nannie — for  he  will  come.  And  think  of  his  sur- 
prise when  he  finds  me  waiting  for  him! " 

And  Mrs.  Nannie  said  little,  but  sympathized  much  with 
the  little  stranger,  and  wished  with  all  her  might  that  the 
handsome  face  had  never  bent  above  that  gambling-table, 
and  had  really  possessed  the  godlike  attributes  Delia 
believed  it  did. 

"  But  if  the  poor  fellow  is  dead,  she  might  as  well  be  let 
keep  her  pleasant  thoughts  of  him,"  decided  her  chaperone, 
and  did  much  maneuvering  that  truths  unpleasant  might 
not  mar  them. 

Some  of  the  gentlemen  of  High-Low  swore  stealthily 
when  they  learned  from  her  own  candid  lips  that  the  man 
she  called  cousin  was  to  be  her  husband  some  day. 


IN    THE    FORT    OF    THE   UNNAMED    NATION.  103 

"What  in  time  a  man  leaves  luck  like  that  behind  him 
for,  /  can't  see,"  was  the  unanimous  verdict;  "  and  we'd  be 
doing  her  a  service  if  we  did  find  him  dead  and  prove  it  to 
her.  The  chump  that  picks  up  squaws  and  leaves  a  little 
girl  like  that  to  worry  don't  deserve  to  be  let  live,  anyway." 

Redney  was  the  one  of  all  the  rest  who  said  never  a 
word,  and  did  not  seem  to  think  the  possession  of  the  young 
lady — for  all  her  dollars — was  a  thing  worth  fighting  for; 
and  it  was  with  a  distinct  frown  on  his  face  that  he  watched 
her  sauntering  away  from  the  others  after  the  sacred  fish 
dinner,  to  which  they  all  gave  wondrous  praise. 

"Oh,  do  come  and  sit  down,"  called  Mrs.  Ewing.  "You 
are  not  really  enjoying  the  delights  of  this  place  at  all. 
One  must  rest  and  gaze  to  do  that." 

"  You  are  resting  enough  for  two,  and  I  am  going  on  a 
/0/z^tourof  adventure  in  the  meanwhile!"  answered  the 
girl;  and  Mr.  Collins,  who  had  arisen  from  his  lounging-place, 
resumed  it  at  sound  of  the  accented  word. 

"  I  am  too  comfortable  here  to  risk  being  made  uncom- 
fortable by  Miss  Raeforth  ordering  me  back,"  declared 
Mr.  Ewing;  "  and  if  our  guide  will  only  be  accommodating 
and  tell  us  some  more  of  this  mountain  and  the  fish  pre- 
serve over  there,  I'll  ask  no  more  of  the  day." 

But  their  guide  had  few  words  for  them.  His  eyes  were 
busier  than  his  tongue,  and  they  were  directed  to  the  lone 
adventuress  until  she  vanished  from  sight. 

"  Is  there  any  danger  in  her  rambling  away  like  that? " 
asked  Mrs.  Ewing,  suddenly,  as  she  chanced  to  note  Redney 's 
gaze. 

"  Not  likely;  too  high  for  snakes,  and  nothing  grazes  here 
unless  it's  mountain  sheep." 

But  the  girl  saw  neither;  not  anything  living  crossed  her 
way,  though  now  and  then  bird-songs  would  come  up  on. 
the  air,  and  far  out  an  eagle  drifted  and  drifted  around 


104  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

some  unseen  eyrie.  Its  still  grace  fascinated  her,  its  strength 
and  poise  had  so  serene  a  beauty.  Suddenly  across  her 
appreciation  a  sickening  revulsion  came — the  remembrance 
of  having  once  in  the  South  watched  just  such  a  stately 
circling  thing — a  thing  that  a  moment  later  had  swooped 
downward  to  carrion;  it  brought  back  to  her  the  thought 
that  the  things  of  air  and  the  beasts  of  the  forest  might  be 
even  now  circling  the  remains  of  that  handsome  face  whose 
picture  she  wore. 

"  Oh,  it  is  horrible — horrible!  Neil,  why  don't  you  come 
back? "  she  whispered — "  whether  dead  or  alive,  why  don't 
you  come  back? " 

She  was  standing  on  the  great  terrace;  in  watching  the 
eagle  she  had  moved  nearer  its  edge  than  she  knew,  and 
leaning  over  to  look  at  the  great  ropes  of  vine  that  draped 
it  she  barely  restrained  herself  from  screaming.  It  was 
such  an  uncouth-looking  creature  who  lay  below  there,  just 
as  she  had  seen  drunken  Indians  sleeping  with  the  hot  sun 
in  their  faces. 

But  this  one,  though  evidently  drunk,  was  not  an  Indian. 
The  shaggy  beard  that  covered  the  most  of  his  red  face  was 
brown,  and  his  eyes,  as  he  opened  them,  were  bloodshot. 

She  was  not  aware  of  uttering  a  sound,  but  must  have,  for 
his  gaze  turned  directly  to  her,  a  strange,  frightened  look  in 
his  eyes.  And  then  she  saw  him  stagger  to  his  feet  and 
toward  her,  reaching  clutchingly  upward  in  a  way  that 
filled  her  with  terror. 

She  backed  away,  too  frightened  to  call  or  to  turn  her 
eyes  from  those  horribly  eager  ones;  but  when  the  cliff  hid 
him  from  view  she  turned  and  fled. 

Hearing  no  footsteps,  she  halted  when  in  sight  of  the  rest 
of  the  party.  She  had  no  idea  of  letting  them  see  she  was 
frightened  if  she  could  help  it,  and  rested  to  gather  scattered 
thoughts  and  lost  breath. 


IN    THE    FORT    OF    THE    UNNAMED    NATION.  105 

Should  she  tell  them  that  their  camp  of  solitude  was 
shared  in  part  by  some  drunken  vagabond,  or — and  this 
suited  much  better  her  little  likings  for  mystery — should 
she  keep  quiet,  if  the  vagabond  did,  and  astonish  them  with 
her  adventure  when  they  reached  High-Low? 

She  rather  liked  that  last  idea,  and,  glancing  back,  she 
saw  never  a  sign  of  a  follower,  and  decided  she  would  say 
nothing,  and  then,  happening  to  look  directly  ahead  of  her, 
saw  Redney  standing  perfectly  still  looking  at  her.  He 
had  surely  seen  her  running,  and  was  evidently  waiting  for 
her  to  speak.  Her  resolution  vanished. 

"Did — did  you  see  him?  "  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head,  with  a  little  look  of  relief  on  his  face. 
Him?  Then  it  was  not  filouise. 

"  A  man?     Did  he  say  anything,  or  scare  you?  " 

"  Well,"  she  acknowledged,  "  I  was  a  little  nervous  at 
sight  of  him ;  he  was  an  unexpected  event,  you  know,  sprawled 
down  there  in  the  sun.  No,  he  did  not  speak,  but  I  thought 
he  was  coming  up  after  me,  so  I  ran." 

"  What  does  he  look  like — stranger?"  and  he  took  a  step 
or  so  in  the  direction  she  had  pointed. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Just  a  very  tall  man,  with  brown 
hair  and  beard  all  over  his  face." 

"Young?" 

"  Had  not  time  to  determine  even  that,"  she  smiled.  "  I 
left  too  soon.  I  think  he  was  drunk,  for  his  eyes  were  so 
red-looking;  and  I  know  he  was  bareheaded  and  had  a  sort 
of  wide  Indian  scarf  around  his  shoulders." 

"Oh!"  and  he  turned  his  face  slightly  away  from  her, 
and  seemed  debating  as  to  who  the  man  on  the  mountain 
could  be.  But  the  mention  of  that  wide  scarf  had  started 
conjectures  that  for  a  moment  made  him  forget  the  girl 
beside  him. 

"Then  you  don't  know  the  man?"  he  asked  at  last. 


106  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"I  do  not,"  she  answered,  promptly,  "and  I  don't  want 
to.  I  don't  admire  that  bloated,  red-eyed  style  of  beauty. 
I've  been  watching  to  see  him  appear  above  that  ledge." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do? " 

"  Do?  Why,  nothing.  If  he  does  not  climb  up  to 
bother  us,  we  can  afford  to  leave  him  alone,  can't  we  ?  and 
then  it  would  disturb  Mrs.  Ewing  if  he  should  prove 
an  unpleasant  addition  to  our  picnic.  I  had  intended  to 
say  nothing  of  him  until  we  got  away  from  here;  but  I 
scarcely  believe  that  he  could  scale  that  wall,  it  seemed 
rather  high  there." 

"At  what  point?" 

She  pointed,  and  he  walked  in  that  direction.  Once  he 
looked  back  and  noted  that  she  was  looking  unconcern- 
edly across  to  the  Gold  Range.  The  identity  of  the  unknown 
man  troubled  her  but  little.  No  such  swift  suspicion  hacJ 
come  to  her  as  to  him. 

He  reached  the  edge  of  the  terrace  and  leaned  over.  No 
sign  there  of  the  man  with  the  scarf.  He  arose  and  looked 
toward  the  foot  of  the  mountain;  plainly  there  was  the 
slight  dip  where  the  stream  of  the  tumwata  crept  down- 
ward. He  was  far  above  the  falls,  and  it  was  somewhere 
near  that  stream  that  she  must  have  her  hiding-place — the 
place  he  had  tried  to  lead  those  strangers  away  from.  Had 
she  really  come  farther  up  the  height  than  he  supposed? 
Could  it  be  from  the  lake  of  the  old  nation  that  she 
brought  those  fish,  she  a  girl  and  alone,  when  even  the 
more  venturesome  of  the  tribes  cared  little  to  go  alone 
above  the  terrace?  And  that  man! 

"  A  very  tall  man,  with  brown  hair  and  beard  all  over  his 
face,"  he  mused;  "and  bareheaded,  too.  Wonder  if  she's 
forgotten  the  man  she  was  looking  for?  " 

But  Miss  Delia  was  looking  for  a  very  different  order  of 
man — for  a  gay  smile  and  a  covert  caress  of  glance;  for  a 


THE    PICTURE   IN    THE   LOCKET.  107 

lordly,  handsome  individual  with  a  mustache;  and  nothing 
in  the  vagabond  under  the  terrace  suggested  kinship  with 
her  ideal. 

"  If  it  is"  he  debated,  as  he  laid  himself  prone  to  look  over 
the  cliff — "  if  it  is,  then  lillouise  lied  like  a  claim-jumper." 

But  nothing  human  could  he  see  to  prove  his  suspicion. 
There  was  the  little  spring  that  glided  out  from  under  the 
overhanging  rock,  and  his  keen  glance  noted  the  woven 
grass  at  the  edge  of  it,  and  a  cluster  of  leaves  stripped 
from  a  bush  near  that  lay  wilting  on  the  warm  stones.  But 
the  man  who  had  staggered  under  the  hanging  rock  he  did 
not  see,  and  could  not  without  clambering  down,  and  he 
did  not  care  enough  for  that.  He  had  seen  enough.  Yes, 
the  home  of  filouise  must  be  there.  And  the  man? 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    PICTURE   IN   THE   LOCKET. 

A  DAY  later  Redney  was  again  at  the  cascade.  His  idea 
that  the  brain  of  ISlouise  was  touched,  and  that  he  must 
not  interfere  or  cross-question  her,  had  vanished. 

"Then  it  ain't  a  dead  man  you  have  hid  here?"  he 
demanded;  and  she  said: 

"  I  never  told  he  was  dead,  but  I  feared  much  he  would 
be.  No,  I  think  he  is  to  live  now;  and  may  be,  after  all,  it 
will  be  well." 

But  her  words  were  not  very  sure,  and  her  eyes  avoided 
Redney's.  She  felt  a  new  element  in  his  manner  to  her, 
one  of  disapproval,  and  she  knew  not  of  what. 


108  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"May  be  it  will  not  be  long  I  trouble  you,"  she  said  at 
last.  "  Some  day,  when  there  is  money  enough,  we  will  go, 
so  he  says,  away — far." 

"  And  I  thought  you  was  spunky,"  he  sneered,  con- 
temptuously. "  You! — and  here  you  are  packing  traps  like 
a  mule  for  that  fellow.  Where's  your  church  religion? 
Don't  it  tell  you  better  than  to  live  like  that?  I've  a 
mighty  big  notion  to  call  for  that  reward  and  give  him  up." 

He  scarcely  knew  how  she  got  to  her  feet  so  quickly,  but 
she  was  there,  and  close  above  him. 

"No,  you  will  never  tell,"  she  said,  grimly — "never;  if 
you  did  it  would  kill  me,  but  you  would  die  first." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment.  He  could  understand  her 
better  than  he  could  have  done  a  month  before;  at  the  same 
time,  he  was  impatient  with  the  feelings  he  comprehended. 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  Louise,"  he  said,  a  little  sadly. 
That  night  in  the  cabin  he  had  felt  like  her  guardian,  and 
rather  joyed  in  the  fact,  and  she  had  swept  all  that  away 
in  one  erratic  feminine  impulse.  "Ill  help  you,  just  the 
same.  I'll  be  your  friend,  but — I'm  all  broke  Up  myself." 

"So  he  says,"  and  she  nodded  understandingly.  "His 
head  is  queer.  He  sees  things — things  that  are  not.  But 
that  does  not  matter;  you  must  never  tell — never." 

"Loony,  is  he?"  he  asked.  "Well,  that  changes  things 
some — makes  it  some  harder  on  you,  too;  but  I'll  keep 
quiet  and  see  that  no  one  tracks  you.  It  was  me  led  them 
around  the  other  trail  yesterday." 

"You?  I  saw  only  strangers — the  man  you  like,  and  his 
woman,  and  then  two  other  men." 

"  Oh,  I  was  on  ahead  about  that  time,  I  reckon,  but  I 
was  there;  and  I  found  your  fishing-place,  too,"  he  added. 
"  Say,  what  made  you  break  for  that  point? "  and  he  pointed 
upward;  "it's  out  of  the  world." 

"It  is  best;  it  was  long  ago  the  place  for  the  hunted; 
why  not  now? " 


THE   PICTURE    IN   THE   LOCKET.  109 

"  Only  that  '  now '  there's  no  religion  to  keep  people  from 
following  anything  they  trail,  even  if  it  goes  to  the  tip- 
top; and  don't  Mestina  say  there  used  to  be?" 

"  Yes.  So  did  Henri  once.  Some  '  old  medicine '  told 
him  things  like  that.  But  their  '  church  '  (religion)  died; 
only  the  mountain  is  left." 

"  Yes,  and  so  will  you  be  as  soon  as  that  fellow  is  able  to 
take  the  trail  alone,"  he  said,  darkly;  but  she  did  not  under- 
stand. She  had  his  word  that  he  would  keep  her  secret. 
She  liked  him  and  believed  in  him  more  than  in  most  men; 
but  just  then  the  opinion  of  the  outer  world  or  its  peo- 
ple mattered  not  all  to  her.  Under  the  terrace  of  that 
ancient  refuge  was  the  one  atom  of  earth  that  dwarfed  all 
the  rest  in  her  thoughts.  To  be  sure,  she  was  not  possessed 
of  great  brain-power,  and,  to  be  sure,  her  views  of  most 
things  were  very  narrow  ones;  for,  after  all,  she  was  only  a 
little  Indian — self-ostracized  from  her  gods,  fearful  of 
the  hell  of  the  Christians,  yet  stubbornly  facing  the  pros- 
pect of  it  for  the  sake  of  her  human  god,  and,  withal, 
scarce  realizing  the  meaning  of  the  sentiment  that  had 
made  her  in  turn  fierce  and  devoted,  proud,  and  then  slave- 
like. 

Did  Redney  guess?  He  showed  less  impatience  toward 
her  decisions,  but  his  eyes  followed  her  sadly  as  she  left 
him.  He  had  not,  in  his  later  visits,  spoken  of  that 
early  plan  of  his  that  ISlouise  should  join  him  in  an 
exodus  from  High-Low.  In  fact,  High-Low  as  a  social 
center  was  having  more  of  a  boom,  in  his  estimation,  than 
it  had  hitherto  enjoyed.  The  ice  had  been  broken  by  Miss 
Delia.  He  was  enrolled  as  one  of  her  attendant  spirits; 
his  suggestions  were  in  all  things  adopted  by  her,  as  the 
location  of  their  picnic  had  proven.  She  had  further 
agreed  that  they  have  a  secret  between  them — the  knowl- 
edge that  the  sacred  hill  had  a  disreputable-looking  tenant 


110  SQUAW    ^LOUISE. 

"Only  a  miner  sleeping  off  a  drunk,"  suggested  Redney, 
glibly,  though  suspecting  strongly  that  he  was  telling  a  lie. 
"  No  harm  in  him,  I  reckon,  but  Milt's  wife  might  be  some 
backward  about  making  picnics  if  she  knew  we  run  against 
such  cattle." 

"  Then  we  won't  tell  her,"  said  Miss  Delia,  promptly. 
"  I  did  tell  her  about  seeing  your  pretty  Indian  that  night, 
and  I  wonder  why  you  did  not." 

"  Had  something  else  to  think  of,"  he  said,  brusquely. 

"  Nothing  prettier,  I'm  sure,"  she  retorted,  with  challeng- 
ing eyes;  "and  I  should  like  to  know  why  you  don't  bring 
her  to  see  us  sometime.  Don't  you  ever  intend  to?" 

He  had  avoided  answering  somehow,  but  her  words 
started  him  to  thinking  that,  after  all,  there  was  no  reason 
why  l£louise  should  keep  herself  in  hiding  any  longer.  If 
the  man  were  really  alive,  no  question  of  murder  could  come 
up  against  her,  and  Redney  gave  a  big  sigh  of  relief  at  the 
thought,  though  not  caring  the  price  of  a  fox-scalp  whether 
Dunbar  was  living  or  dead.  And  since  no  one  had  as  yet 
connected  her  in  the  slightest  way  with  his  disappearance, 
why  should  she  go  to  so  much  trouble  to  keep  out  of 
sight? 

He  whistled  after  her  to  call  her  back  and  speak  of  that, 
but  she  did  not  answer,  and  he  would  not  follow  her.  He 
knew  it  would  only  irritate  her,  and  then  he  might  run 
against  the  man  she  called  "master"  and  be  irritated 
himself. 

And  the  man  was  waiting  for  her  with  so  warm  a  wel- 
come in  his  eyes  that  her  face  flushed  with  gladness  at  his 
glance,  and,  though  breathless  from  her  haste,  she  com- 
menced at  once  the  preparation  of  breakfast.  She  had  been 
up  at  dawn,  and  the  sun  was  an  hour  high,  yet  she  had 
eaten  nothing  until  he  could  share  it. 

"  I  have  waited  hours  to  hear  your  step  out  there,"  he 


THE   PICTURE   IN    THE   LOCKET.  Ill 

complained;  and  she  smiled  that  the  time  of  her  absence 
had  seemed  long. 

"I  had  the  fish  to  get,"  she  explained;  "they  are  over  a 
mile  from  here,  and  they  had  to  be  taken  to  the  foot  of  the 
mountain." 

"  To  your  friend? " 

"  Yes,  he  sells  them;  the  people  think  he  catches  them. 
He  is  very  good." 

"Church  man?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  He  never  says,"  she  admitted, 
reluctantly,  "  and  he  wears  no  church  charm." 

"  Oh,  well,  they  don't  count  for  so  much,  do  they? "  he 
asked,  carelessly;  and  she  looked  at  him  in  a  sort  of  wonder. 

"  But  you  wear  one?  " 

"I?  No;"  and  then  he  raised  a  hand  to  his  breast  and 
understood.  "  Oh,  that  is  not  a  church  charm,  my  child, 
only  the  picture  of  a  little  girl." 

"  I  saw  it,"  she  persisted.  "  Are  you  ashamed  of  your 
church?  Yesterday,  when  I  found  you,  the  lock  of  it  was 
open,  and  it  is  like  a  face  in  the  church  that  is  like  the 
mother  of  Christ." 

"What  an  imagination  you  have!  "  he  smiled.  "Here, 
look  closer;  the  mother  of  Christ  does  not  tie  back  her  curls 
with  blue  ribbons,  and,  surely,  never  looks  at  you  with  such 
roguish  eyes." 

She  leaned  forward,  gazing  at  it  with  breathless  interest. 

"So  white,"  she  said  at  last;  "so  fine.  Does  she  live, 
the  one  who  is  like  that? " 

He  drew  a  quick  sigh,  passing  his  hand  over  his  eyes 
perplexedly. 

"  I  don't  know,  filouise.  Something  is  wrong  with  this 
brain  of  mine,  or  else  spirits  haunt  our  mountain,  for  I 
thought  she  came  here  yesterday — a  face  like  hers,  yet  not 
the  same,"  and  he  searched  the  pictured  face  closely. 


112  SQUAW    ^LOUISE. 

"  And  if  she  is  still  alive,  then  it  must  be  my  head  that  is 
wrong,  for  no  living  woman  but  you  climbs  to  this  cave.'' 

"  None  but  me.     And  if  she  has  died?" 

He  looked  at  her  moodily,  as  she  knelt  by  the  little  fire. 
Her  question  suggested  the  future — "  if  she  has  died?  " 

"It  would  not  make  much  difference  to  my  life  now,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  If  she  has  not,  I  have  to  all  the  people  who 
ever  knew  me.  I  could  not  go  back  to  them,  to  her,  with 
an  actual  murder  on  my  hands.  I  have  died,  filouise;  I, 
the  man  men  knew,  and  the  thing  you  resurrected,  is  known 
nowhere.  Do  you  understand?  I  have  not  even  a  name 
to  use.  You  must  find  me  one.  You  find  everything  else 
I  need  up  here;  you  must  find  a  name.  What  is  your 
Indian  one?  And  we  must  find  a  trail,  and — " 

"Hush!  "  she  said,  softly,  noting  that  his  eyes  were  losing 
their  steadiness.  "  Talk  no  more  now.  It  is  best  for  you 
to  rest  much  to-day;  the  sun  is  to  be  hot.  Yesterday  it  was 
so,  and  burned  in  your  brain.  To-day  I  shall  watch;  but  it 
reaches  even  through  stone  walls  if  people  are  sick." 

He  smiled  assent,  and  dropped  back  on  the  couch  of 
leaves  with  closed  eyes.  The  most  pleasant  thing  in  the 
whole  dreary  stay  there  was  the  watchful  devotion  of  the 
girl,  and  her  little  ways  of  command  when  his  welfare  was 
concerned. 

She  brought  his  coffee,  his  gruel  made  of  oats,  and  the 
whitefish  crisped  on  the  coals,  and  then  spoke  lowly  lest 
his  sleep  should  be  disturbed  too  roughly. 

"  You  remind  me  of  oriental  stories  I  used  to  read,"  he 
said,  looking  up  at  her;  "  and  I  never  can  realize  that  you 
are  a  northern  Indian.  Where  did  you  learn  to  take  care 
of  sick  folks? " 

"  I  never  learned;  Indians  don't  have  to  learn." 

t(  I  believe  you,"  he  said,  and  watched  her  curiously  as 
he  drank  the  coffee  and  the  gruel. 


THE   PICTURE   IN    THE   LOCKET.  113 

She  sat  over  against  the  wall,  her  eyes  half-averted,  as 
was  usual  with  her  in  his  presence.  He  would  much 
rather  have  seen  those  dark  orbs  turned  toward  him  when 
he  spoke;  the  fact  that  they  sought  the  floor  instead  of  his 
face  often  acted  like  a  barrier  to  freedom  of  speech  that 
would  have  been  a  boon  sometimes.  She  was  devoted  in 
her  care  for  him,  but  no  squaw  he  had  ever  seen  had 
impressed  him  so  with  the  idea  that  her  humility  had  a 
certain  quality  of  pride  in  it;  but  the  only  actual  outbreak 
of  it  had  been  shown  when  she  left  him  so  abruptly  the  day 
before.  He  felt  guilty  at  times  at  the  remembrance  of  her 
words,  yet  had  attempted  nothing  in  his  own  defense.  Her 
care  of  him  was  doubly  puzzling  as  he  remembered  her  angry 
eyes;  but  his  head  was  not  yet  steady  enough  to  reason  out 
such  subtleties.  He  preferred  watching  her,  without  any 
thought  whatever  in  his  mind  beyond  the  sense  of  pleasure 
in  the  pictures  she  made — odd,  semi-oriental  ones  they 
seemed  to  him,  until  the  fancy  would  envelop  her  in 
meshes  of  mystery,  and  imperceptibly  strengthened  her 
attraction  for  him. 

"  Since  you  object  to  me  talking  to  you,  you  must  talk 
to  me,"  he  decided.  "  Tell  me  of  yourself — not  of  now, 
but  of  long  ago;  where  you  lived,  who  you  are,  and  all — 
won't  you? " 

"  I  lived  in  the  woods;  I  am  Iillouise;  that  is  all,"  she 
replied;  and  he  laughed  at  the  briefness  of  the  history. 

"  Now  listen,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  with  an  affection- 
ate air  of  authority.  "  You  are  angry  with  me,  and  that  is 
natural.  But  do  you  intend  to  remain  a  stranger  to  me 
forever  just  because  I  was  drunk  and  silly  that  one  night? 
Life  is  too  short  for  hate,  filouise."  .  . 

"  Hate! — I  do  not,"  she  began,  but  he  raised  his  hand. 

"Yet  you  will  not  forgive,"  he  said,  reproachfully. 
"  Listen.  I  swear  I  had  no  wish  to  part  with  you.  No;  I 


114  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

was  glad  when  my  luck  won  you.  Will  you  not  believe?  It 
was  the  drink  made  me  crazy.  I  scarcely  know  how  it  was 
I  put  you  up  in  the  cursed  game.  I  know  I  meant  to  bet 
this,  as  it  was  all  the  gold  I  had  left,"  and  he  pointed  to 
the  locket  with  the  angelic  face  in  it.  "  How  it  came  that 
I  did  not  I  can't  tell.  Think  of  it!  I  meant  to  trade  off 
the  picture  of  my  little  cousin,  who  had  been  the  dearest 
thing  in  the  world  to  me.  I  was  crazy,  else  I  never  would 
have  done  that.  Won't  you  understand?  It  is  not  me  you 
should  hate.  I  wanted  you.  I — " 

"  I  do  not  hate,"  she  repeated,  lowly,  and  finding  it  so 
hard  to  speak  steadily  under  the  feelings  of  her  injury  to 
him,  of  which  he  knew  nothing — to  hear  him  say  he 
wanted  her;  to  ask  her  forgiveness,  when  she  felt  so 
guilty — guilty! 

Did  he  guess  that  she  did  not  hate?  He  looked  at  her 
and  smiled  when  she  spoke.  He  would  need  to  be  several 
steps  nearer  the  grave  than  he  was  to  be  untouched  by  the 
conscious  flush  of  her  young  face  as  she  answered  him.  He 
gave  a  little  contented  sigh,  and  lay  back  with  closed  eyes. 

"You've  made  me  talk  myself  into  a  fever  to  convince 
you,"  he  complained;  "but  you  have  not  yet  said  '  forgive.' 
You  can  be  very  hard-hearted." 

She  seemed  to  hear  only  the  first  part  of  his  speech,  for 
she  arose  and  brought  him  an  infusion  of  aromatic  herbs, 
at  which  he  laughed  again. 

"You  are  always  the  doctor,  never  the  girl,"  he  said. 
"  No,  I  will  not  drink  the  tea.  Sit  and  talk  to  me;  that 
will  be  medicine  enough." 

"There  is  nothing  to  say,"  she  repeated,  quietly.  "In 
the  Indian  lodges,  people  never  learn  to  say  many  things, 
or  talk  much  about  little.  It  is  only  the  white  women  who 
do  that,  and  who  laugh — laugh  like  the  girl  in  your 
charm — the  girl  you  say  cousin;  that  is  like  sister?  " 


THE  PICTURE  IN   THE  LOCKET.  US' 

"  Like? — yes,  some  like,"  and  he  smiled  at  her.  "  But 
I'll  tell  you,  and  then  we'll  never  talk  of  it  any  more.  We 
changed  pictures — traded,  you  know;  and  that  is  some- 
times a  love  sign  with  us,  you  understand.  Well,  I  came 
west  until  my  little  girl  would  grow  up;  then  I  was  to  go 
back.  We  were  to  be  married,  and  live  in  luck  the  rest  of 
our  lives.  That's  all  over  now,  you  see.  I'll  never  go 
back  now.  Neil  Dunbar  can't,  you  know;  he's  dead.  I 
don't  know  just  who  this  is  that's  telling  you  Neil's  story. 
You  must  find  a  name  for  him,  and  we'll  both  try  and  for- 
get there  ever  was  such  a  man;  and  if  the  authorities  don't 
catch  me,  or  if  some  of  Clevents'  friends  don't  get  on  my 
track,  we'll  find  something  better  than  these  rock  walls  to 
live  in,  and  we'll  forget  them,  too." 

"  I  don't  want  to  forget.  This  has  been  a  good  home  to 
me,"  she  answered.  "  This,  the  old,  old  place  where  the 
outlaws  hid.  May  be  the  outlaws  loved  it,  too,  for  its 
shelter;  and  I — I  will  never  forget." 

"The  outlaws?  Tell  me  of  them.  I  want  a  story  of 
some  sort,  since  you  will  tell  me  none  of  yourself;  and  to 
suit  the  pictures  you  make,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  all 
sorts  of  dreamy,  mysterious  stories  of  the  East." 

She  did  not  understand.  The  East  was  to  her  a  place 
where  the  tenderfeet  grew,  and  where  the  white  men's 
mothers  and  fathers  were.  But  though  she  knew  nothing 
of  that  older  East,  she  told  the  legend  of  the  northern- 
mountain,  that  had  quite  as  much  of  the  picturesque  about 
it,  and  was  quite  as  visionary. 

"  Only  the  old  people  tell  of  it  now,"  she  said.  "  It  is  all 
of  so  long  ago,  like  the  shadow  of  things  that  have  been; 
and  with  every  old  one  that  dies,  a  little  more  is  forgotten. 
Soon  all  will  be  dead,  and  strangers  who  hunt  gold  will 
wonder  at  the  great  gate  cut  in  the  mountain;  no  one  will 
be  left  to  say  why  it  was  cut  there." 


116  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"  For  that  you  need  a  historian — no,  a  poet,"  he  said, 
and  then  looked  at  her  approvingly.  "  You  have  seemed 
almost  one  as  you  talk  there.  Who  taught  you  to  speak 
so  beautifully? " 

"  Me?    You  are  laughing  at  me." 

"  Indeed  I  am  not.  You  seem  like  one  of  those  guardian 
spirits  of  the  mountain  come  to  life  to  tell  of  their  past, 
and  to  copy  them,  too,  by  saving  another  outlaw.  Are  you 
sure,  now,  you  do  not  belong  to  that  old  race?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  answered,  quietly.  "  You  will  laugh 
more,  may  be,  when  you  hear,  but  even  the  oldest  people 
say  that  Mestina  was  of  the  old  king  nation.  It  has  always 
been  said  she  was  the  last;  and  now — " 

"  And  now  you  are.  So  that  is  how  the  title  of  princess 
was  given  to  her  ladyship.  Well,  don't  pretend  you  can't 
tell  stories.  You  have  chased  away  troublesome  memories 
from  my  brain,  and  given  me  something  soothingly  roman- 
tic to  think  of,  though  I  shall  stand  in  awe  of  your  impor- 
tance now,  and  will  scarcely  dare  let  you  wait  on  me — you, 
a  princess  of  the  unnamed  nation!  " 

"  No,"  she  objected;  "  the  name  means  nothing  now,  not 
so  much  as  elite,  for  I  will  work  while  you  need  me,  and 
am  content  to  be  slave." 

"  To  be  mine?  " 

"  To  serve  my  master,"  she  said,  simply,  and  he  smiled  at 
her  absolute  refusal  to  be  won  to  a  more  familiar  attitude 
or  speech. 

Clearly,  she  was  Indian  in  nature  —  though  ready  to 
serve,  she  could  not  quite  forgive.  But  her  devotion 
bridged  over  any  estrangement;  and  after  that  day  when 
he  had  told  her  of  a  one-time  sweetheart  that  he  had  given 
up,  as  he  had  all  other  worldly  things  except  herself — 
JClouise — and  after  she  had  broken  her  reserve,  and  told 
him  of  her  youthful  friend  Henri,  and  then  of  the  forgotten 


THE    PICTURE    IN    THE   LOCKET.  117 

race  whose  descendant  people  said  she  was — well,  it  all 
served  to  narrow  the  distance  between  them;  and  although 
she  never  voluntarily  touched  his  hand,  and  although  the 
dread  was  always  with  her  that  some  chance  would  reveal 
that  he  was  free  to  walk  away  if  he  chose,  yet  she  held 
close  in  her  guilty  heart  the  joy  of  barring  out  the  world 
from  him  for  a  little  while  longer;  that  it  would  be  forever 
she  dared  not  hope.  In  his  strength  he  might  learn  the 
truth,  and  might  turn  from  her,  but  he  was  yet,  in  his  weak- 
ness, dependent  only  on  her;  and  she  owed  him  so  great  a 
debt. 

Paying  it,  she  worked  through  the  early  dawns  and  odor- 
ous dusks,  doing  the  work  she  had  seen  the  trappers  do 
with  wolves  killed  by  poisons,  curing  the  pelts  for  trans- 
portation when  the  number  had  reached  the  amount 
needed.  From  fish  and  small  snared  game  she  could  get 
what  was  needed  for  mere  living;  but  to  leave  and  take  a 
long  trail  money  would  be  needed — and  if  he  kept  the  wish 
to  go  to  that  south-land  where  the  snow  never  fell?  and  if 
he  kept  the  wish  that  she  should  go  too?  Well,  she  did  not 
dare  hope  too  much,  but,  nevertheless,  set  the  traps  and 
gathered  the  harvest  that  came  from  them,  and  but  for  her 
hurt  to  him  and  her  lie  to  him,  would  have  been  utterly 
happy. 

And  her  face  shone  fitfully  joyous  at  times,  in  spite  of  the 
weight  of  her  Manitou's  symbol  that  had  driven  out  her 
Christianity.  When  one  is  young  it  is  not  easy  to  close 
one's  eyes  to  the  blue  sky  or  the  star-shine,  no  matter  how 
dark  the  clouds  are  that  crouch  along  the  horizon. 


118  SQUAW  fLOUISE. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

HIGH-LOW    REFORMED. 

WHEN  the  rather  distinguished  face  of  Mr.  Clevents 
again  responded  to  the  smile  of  High-Low,  it  confronted 
several  unlooked-for  changes.  A  month  had  not  elapsed 
since  the  night  he  had  pocketed  all  the  winnings,  yet  dur- 
ing it  two  ladies  were  reputed  to  have  taken  up  lodgings 
within  the  gates  of  the  city  to  be.  Mr.  Clevents  said 
"Ah?"  when  informed  of  the  addition  by  Antoine,  and 
then  added,  "  I  thought  you  had  as  many  as  this  hell-hole 
could  support  when  I  was  here  last  time.  Did  my  Indian 
ever  show  up  again? " 

And  then,  with  scant  notice  of,  and  scanter  belief  in,  An- 
toine's  asseverations  that  these  ladies  were  "  most  surely 
another  sort,"  Mr.  Clevents  continued  his  inquiries  con- 
cerning the  unsolved  problem  of  Dunbar's  disappearance. 
And  others  than  Antoine  answered;  all  the  residents  gath- 
ered in  for  the  mail  greeted  the  new-comer,  and  while 
they  talked  he  eyed  them  with  flattering  attention,  noting 
a  certain  "  dressy  "  atmosphere  about  them  that  had  not 
belonged  there  when  he  saw  them  last. 

Clean  shirts  were  noticeable;  best  boots  were  prominent, 
showing  by  their  unscarred  surface  that  they  had  not  been 
degraded  to  work  in  the  diggings  that  day.  Neckties 
flaunted  in  the  June  air,  and  innovations  that  a  month  ago 
would  have  docked  their  wearers  for  the  drinks  were,  to  Mr. 
Clevents'  wonder,  noticed  by  no  one  but  himself;  and  a 
couple  entering  the  general  store  and  saloon  cast  lingering 
glances  down  the  road  ere  calling  for  their  liquor. 


HIGH-LOW    REFORMED. 

"Is  this  prayer-meeting  night?"  he  asked,  mildly  curious, 
and  was  looked  at  threateningly  by  one  or  two  in  conse- 
quence. But  as  Antoine  was  busy  sorting  the  mail,  and  as 
Collins  was  distributing  drinks,  no  one  had  time  to  answer. 
He  saw  Redney  spelling  over  an  old  newspaper  at  the  post- 
office  corner  of  the  counter,  and  sauntered  over  to  him. 
He  had  rather  liked  the  young  fellow  since  that  memorable 
night,  in  spite  of  the  idea  he  had  that  Redney  did  not  like 
him,  not  well  enough  to  let  him  have  that  ticket,  anyway. 

"Good-evening,"  he  said,  civilly;  "I  was  just  going  to 
ask  for  you.  I  had  an  idea  that  you  might  be  able  to  tell 
me  something  about  my  Indian  girl  and  her  mother.  They 
seem  to  have  dropped  off  the  face  of  the  earth  au  com- 
pletely as  Dunbar." 

"  About,"  agreed  Redney.  "  But  I  don't  happen  to  have 
anything  to  tell  you." 

"Ah!  Well,  I've  an  interest  in  the  matter,  you  know, 
since  he  was  hurt  over  a  game  with  me — a  good  fellow,  too. 
I've  a  notion  of  starting  on  the  hunt  myself,  but  reckon  it's 
too  late." 

No  answer  from  Redney,  who  seemingly  had  no  interest 
in  the  subject,  and  whose  gaze  wandered  again  to  the  paper. 

"  By  the  way,"  added  the  stranger,  suddenly,  "you  are  a 
subject  for  congratulation  to-day,  ain't  you?  I  heard  you- 
had  just  been  offered  the  place  of  boss  of  the  portage  and 
mail  gang.  That  will  bring  more  of  an  assured  salary 
than  digging  on  your  own  hook,  won't  it?  Allow  me  to 
furnish  the  drinks  for  the  occasion." 

"  Not  for  me,  thank  you.     I  don't  drink." 

"  With  mey  you  mean? " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I'd  drink  with  you  quicker  than  with 
another  man,  even  if  I  did  drink,"  answered  the  young  fel- 
low, coolly;  "but  I  don't  like  the  stuff,  and  don't  drink  it 
with  anyone." 


120  SQUAW    ELOUISE. 

Mr.  Clevents'  eyes  traveled  over  the  boyish  form  and 
face  speculatively,  and  then  laughed — a  something  suffi- 
ciently rare  to  be  surprising  in  him,  and  changed  the  cool, 
tired-looking  face  into  one  much  more  pleasing. 

"I  don't  know  but  what  I  like  that  speech  of  yours 
almost  as  much  as  I  did  your  refusal  to  let  me  have 
that  ticket,  young  fellow,"  he  said,  frankly,  "and  I  like 
your  pluck  as  well  as  both;  taking  them  all  together,  they 
map  you  out  square.  Will  you  shake? " 

So  taken  back  was  Redney  by  the  words  that,  in  stupid 
surprise,  he  did  meet  the  other  man's  hand  with  his,  though 
not  saying  a  word. 

"I  saw  some  of  the  ideas  you  had,"  went  on  Mr.  Clev- 
ents," especially  about  the  girl;  but  you  were  wrong.  I've 
a  daughter  of  my  own  near  that  girl's  age;  something  of  a 
likeness  seemed  to  strike  me  as  I  got  a  square  look  at  this 
one's  face  that  night.  My  little  girl  is  half  Spanish,  and  if 
I'd  won  the  young  squaw,  she  would  have  been  posted 
right  down  to  Santa  Barbara,  and  had  a  home  where  my 
own  girl  has  one.  That  looked  to  me  a  better  deal  for  her 
than  to  belong  to  any  man  I  saw  in  this  shebang.  There! 
I  don't  often  trouble  myself  to  explain  things,  but  I 
didn't  like  the  thoughts  you  had." 

"  How  did  you  know  I  had  them? " 

"Not  from  your  conversation,  anyway,"  acknowledged 
the  older  man.  "  But  I  was  rather  glad  when  I  heard  you 
had  been  picked  for  the  canoe-line;  it's  a  responsible  thing 
to  be  offered  a  boy,  but  I  suppose  the  fact  that  you  let 
whisky  alone  is  one  reason  you're  elected." 

"Well,  they  did  say  something  of  that  sort,"  he  an- 
swered, with  a  conscious  flush  at  the  self-praise  in  the 
admission.  "  But  I've  an  idea  my  partner,  Ewing,  spoke 
to  Raeforth  for  me.  Ewing  is  in  Dunbar's  place  now." 

"Raeforth?    Oh,  yes.     He's  been  here  since  I've  been 


HIGH-LOW    REFORMED.  121 

gone.  Well,  has  stock  in  the  Little  Hell  had  a  boom  in 
consequence? " 

Not  getting  an  answer,  he  looked  up  to  meet  the  threat- 
ening glance  of  Redney  and  the  glowering  eyes  of  some  of 
the  other  gentry,  while  close  to  his  elbow  a  girlish  contralto 
said: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  will  you  please  move  a  little?" 

And  suddenly  straightening  from  the  position  that  had 
barred  all  access  to  the  "  post-office,"  he  faced  about  and 
met  a  vision  to  which  he  lifted  his  hat  with  rather  more 
grace  than  any  of  the  hatless  inhabitants  of  the  room; 
for  as  he  stepped  back  he  came  in  range  of  all  masculine 
eligible  High-Low  with  a  smirk  on  its  face  and  its  whisky 
forgotten. 

The  vision  was  not  alone.  There  were  two  of  them; 
one  at  the  door,  with  a  white  mite  of  babyhood  in  her  arms, 
and  an  expression  of  disapproval  and  consternation  on  her 
face,  and  Redney,  seeing  it,  walked  straight  to  her. 

"  I  had  no  idea  she  meant  to  go  in  there  alone"  she 
gasped;  "but  she  was  gone  before  I  could  stop  her.  What 
would  her  uncle  say?" 

"  You  both  went  in  the  other  day  with  Milt,"  said  Red- 
ney, crossly. 

"  Oh,  but  that  was  different.  He  told  them  beforehand, 
and  they  were  looking  for  us — and  all,"  explained  Mrs. 
Ewing,  bravely;  "but  to-day — " 

Clevents  was  near  enough  to  hear  the  words,  and  to  bow 
again,  as  the  owner  of  the  contralto  passed  out  with  her 
letters,  after  nodding  graciously  to  several  of  the  smirking 
ones;  and  as  the  last  flutter  of  skirts  disappeared,  as  if 
wafted  away  on  the  long  breath  of  the  man  who  had  glared  at 
him,  Mr.  Clevents  understood  that  the  event  of  the  day  had 
just  occurred,  and  also  understood  the  change  in  dress  and 
deportment  that  had  puzzled  him  before. 


122  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

But  part  of  the  polite  cloak  was  dropped  as  Redney 
re-entered  and  glanced  at  the  gambler. 

"  I  just  came  back  to  mention  something  before  I  forget 
it,"  he  said,  darkly,  "and  this  is  what  it  is:  There's  ladies 
in  this  here  settlement  now,  and  Raeforth's  mine  is  named 
after  one  of  them,  and  her  name  ain't  Little  Hell,  either! 
So,  not  wanting  to  give  offense,  but  it's  been  decided  that 
nicknames  for  that  mine  don't  go  down  with  this  camp  any 
longer." 

"That's  the  talk!"  "Them's  my  sentiments,  gentle- 
men! "  "  D d  if  Redney  can't  find  the  right  words,  and 

we're  back  of  him! "  were  several  of  the  expressions  that 
astonished  the  stranger,  who  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
with  his  slight,  cool  smile. 

"  So?  Well,  a  change  seems  to  have  fallen  over  the  spirit 
of  yoor  dreams  since  I  struck  the  town  last,  and  a  man  might 
be  excusable,  I  think,  for  using  the  name  by  which  the 
mine  was  known  not  a  month  ago;  and  I've  heard  half  of 
you  using  it  yourselves."  . 

None  of  the  party  denied  that;  even  Redney  nodded 
assent  in  the  cause  of  truth. 

"  But  we've  reformed,"  explained  Collins,  "  and  whoever 
locates  here  has  to  reform  with  us,  unless  he's  a  godly 
product  when  he  strikes  camp.  It's  all  out  o'  respect  for 
the  ladies,  you  know." 

"  And  I'm  with  you,  so  you  can't  pick  a  quarrel  on  that 
question,"  said  Clevents  to  Redney;  "only  it's  apt  to  knock 
anyone  dizzy  when  a  reform  like  that  strikes  one  unpre- 
pared. Drink? " 

And  over  the  glasses  he  heard  the  story  of  High-Low's 
reformation,  all  because  of  two  pretty  young  women  and  a 
baby.  He  also  heard  of  the  attempts  made  to  obliterate, 
or  rather  veil,  the  older  feminine  occupancy,  and  the  failure 
thereof.  Just  one  concession  had  been  secured  from 


HIGH-LOW    REFORMED. 

them,  and  that  was  no  loafing  at  Antoine's,  no  drinks 
handed  out  to  women  over  the  bar;  for,  after  the  visit  of 
the  new  divinities  on  a  mail-day,  some  rule  had  to  be  laid 
down  by  these  modern  knights,  even  if  they  had  to  boycott 
Antoine  to  get  his  vote.  But  from  the  numberless  flasks 
that  were  carried  as  bribes  down  the  road,  it  is  safe  to  say 
that  Antoine's  purse  suffered  little  from  the  change. 

So  with  explanations  and  polite  assurances  came  har- 
mony, and  the  new-comer  absorbed  considerable  of  it  in 
quiet  appreciation  of  High-Low's  reformation,  a  reform, 
however,  that  affected  neither  liquid  consolation  nor  games 
of  chance. 

But  Clevents  did  not  play.  To  the  banter  of  some  he 
replied  that  he  had  not  yet  got  the  stake  for  his  last 
game  there,  and  was  waiting  for  it.  But  he  stopped  Redney, 
as  he  was  leaving,  and  asked  when  he  was  to  start  for 
Farwell. 

"Early  in  the  morning;  before  you're  out,  I  reckon." 

"  Well,  I  just  thought  I'd  mention  that  I've  some  friends 
down  there  who  might  be  of  use  if  you  want  anything;  so, 
if  you  do,  young  fellow,  sing  your  little  song!  " 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  week,"  answered  Redney,  in  spite  of 
himself  kindly  impressed  by  the  persistent  courtesy  of  the 
man.  "  I'm  not  likely  to  need  anything  in  that  time;  but 
obliged  to  you,  just  the  same." 

"Well,  good  luck  to  you!  " 

"  Same  to  you,"  returned  the  other,  mechanically,  and 
then,  as  he  walked  thoughtfully  up  the  hill,  took  himself  to 
account  for  the  speech. 

"  If  he  has  a  notion  of  trailing  filouise  or  that  other 
duffer,  I  don't  know  as  I  do  wish  him  luck,  either.  It's  all 
a  cursed  tangle,  anyway.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I've  got 
to  tell  the  truth  to  her,  or  else  skip  the  country;  then  again, 
I've  a  notion  that  if  she  cared  such  a  heap  about  him  she 


124  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

wouldn't  be  forever  laughing,  and  satisfied  with  other 
folks,  ^louise  wouldn't  be,  not  much.  But  then  filouise 
is  a  fool.  She'd  rather  keep  him  up  there  a  gawky  idiot, 
and  work  for  him  like  a  slave,  sooner  than  let  his  relations, 
that  have  the  right,  take  care  of  him.  That's  just  a  fool 
woman;  and  she  ain't  so  much  of  a  woman  as  the  other 
girl,  either,  not  in  years,  though  I  reckon  Indian  blood  ages 
folks — girls,  anyway." 

He  had  duly  conferred  with  the  "  fool  woman  "  about 
his  weekly  trip  from  High-Low,  and  the  possible  necessity  of 
her  going  herself  for  provisions  if  any  quick  need  should  arise. 

"And  you  are  safe  enough,  too,"  he  insisted.  "  No  one 
will  trouble  or  follow  you,  for  no  one  has  an  idea  but  what 
you  have  gone  with  the  princess,  or  back  to  some  of  the 
tribe;  and  if  any  one  bothers  you,  just  tell  me  when  I  get 
back,  that's  all." 

He  had  at  last  persuaded  her  that  no  trace  of  suspicion 
regarding  Dunbar's  disappearance  led  to  her,  and  that 
when  High-Low  sobered  up  no  one  had  much  to  say 
against  her  use  of  the  knife,  except  that  they  were  sorry  it 
happened  to  be  Dunbar. 

"  And  it's  a  heap  better  for  you  to  walk  right  in  there 
<ind  let  anyone  see  you  that  wants  to  than  for  you  to  run 
chances  of  having  some  one  spy  you  accidental,  and  think 
you're  layin'  low  around  here.  They'll  drop  to  it  then  that 
you  have  a  good  reason.  Catch  on?  " 

She  understood,  and  saw  the  wisdom  of  his  plan. 

"  Your  head  thinks  well  for  me,"  she  said,  gratefully, 
"though  sometimes  it  makes  you  a  heap  cross — much;  or 
may  be  it  is  the  other,  the  white  one  of  whom  you  speak 
no  more — she  who  is  proud,  and  angers  you.  Is  it  that? 
and  does  it  make  you  glad  to  go? " 

"  Now  where  do  you  get  your  notions,  ^Ilouise? "  he 
demanded;  "she  ain't  bothering  me  any." 


HIGH-LOW   REFORMED.  125 

"  Oh!  "  and  the  girl's  face  had  a  fleeting  smile  of  the 
care-free,  mischievous  days  when  Redney  had  seen  her  first. 
"  But  since  she  is  so  ugly,  I  thought — " 

"  Ugly?  " 

"  Yes;  the  little  Mrs. — Mrs.  Freshy,  the  one  with  the 
crooked  nose — so  you  said.  You  forget?  " 

"  Oh,  let  up  on  the  noses,  can't  you?  I  guess  she's  about 
as  much  for  looks  as  that  crazy  coyote  you've  got  corraled 
up  there  in  the  ledge;"  and  then,  relenting  somewhat,  he 
added,  more  kindly:  "  Is  he  hard  to  take  care  of?  I  mean, 
does  he  still  see  things  that  ain't  there?  " 

"  Never  now;  but  the  fever  comes  back  many  days,"  she 
answered,  sadly;  "  when  it  comes  no  more,  then  he  will 
get  strong." 

"  And  then  he  wants  to  cut  the  diggin's,  does  he?  Well, 
I  may  be  owner  of  a  portage  outfit  by  that  time,  and  can 
give  him  a  lift.  Say,  when  are  you  to  break  ice  by  showing 
at  the  camp? " 

"  May  be  I  will  go  now,  this  night,  while  you  are  yet 
there,"  she  said,  suddenly;  "  it  might  be  better  if  you  were 
there." 

"Sure,"  he  assented;  "  you  come." 

And  after  he  exchanged  words  with  Clevents,  and  turned 
toward  the  home  path,  he  scanned  road  and  clearing  in  every 
direction  for  some  sign  that  she  had  kept  the  half  promise,  but 
nowhere  could  he  see  her;  and  with  a  mighty  wish  that  the 
tangled  lines  suddenly  centered  in  High-Low  would  pro- 
ceed to  untangle,  and  would  let  him  out  of  the  loops,  he 
proceeded  up  the  slope  to  the  house,  where  the  family  of 
Ewing  had  prepared  a  sort  of  impromptu  feast  in  honor  of 
their  one  member  whom  Miss  Delia  called  the  captain 
since  the  word  of  his  appointment  had  come. 

It  was  Miss  Delia  herself,  with  the  heir  of  the  Ewings  in 
her  arms,  who  met  him  at  the  top  of  the  slope,  where  she 


126  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

had  been  watching  the  flickering  glow  of  the  sun  flame  and 
fade  until  only  the  warm  ashes  lay  banked  up  against  the 
western  sky. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  that  Mrs.  Ewing  told  you  to  come 
straight  home? "  she  asked.  "  She  sent  baby  and  me  out 
to  whistle  for  you,  but  as  whistlers  we  are  failures." 

"  I  had  to  stop  and  talk  with  some  fellows,  or  else  bring 
them  along,  and  I  allowed  you  had  seen  as  many  as  you 
wanted  for  one  evening,"  he  remarked,  with  boyish  sulkiness, 
at  which  she  laughed. 

"  Mrs.  Ewing  said  she  knew  you  were  cross  because  we 
stopped  there,  I  declare,  you  are  too  ridiculous,  though  it 
is  very  good  of  you  to  care  at  all.  But  I  see  nothing 
wrong  about  the  post-office;  the  men  were  very  civil." 

"  For  once,"  he  agreed. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  after  a  little  deliberation,  "  it  may  be 
because  no  lady  has  ever  gone  there  that  they  have  grown 
rough.  Now,  no  place  has  a  right  to  be  such  that  a  lady 
can  not  enter  if  she  choose,  and  I  am  going  to  educate  the 
High-Lowites  to  that  idea." 

"How?" 

"Why,  by  going  at  all  times  and  seasons,"  she  laughed, 
"and  keeping  them  perpetually  on  their  good  behavior." 

"No,  you  won't,"  he  contradicted;  and  she  laughed  again 
at  his  angry  interest. 

"Oh,  but  I  will!  So  you  may  look  for  me  at  the  door 
when  you  come  up  on  that  new  outfit." 

"If  you  don't  take  that  back  I'll  not  move  an  inch 
toward  Farwell,  or  run  the  boats,  either." 

"  You — "  she  began,  in  amazement. 

"  I've  said  it,"  he  returned,  briefly,  without  looking  at 
her.  But  she  looked  at  him,  and  the  set,  boyish  face,  that 
was  more  colorless  than  usual,  checked  her  own  laughter, 
in  fact  sent  a  little  conscious  flush  over  her  own  cheeks, 


MR.  CLEVENTS  TAKES  NOTES.  127 

and  an  embarrassed  silence  fell  over  them,  broken  only,  as 
they  neared  the  house,  by  her  saying: 

"  You  should  have  known  I  was  only   jesting.     I  will 
never  go  in  there  alone  again — of  course  not." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MR.  CLEYENTS  TAKES  NOTES. 

IT  was  by  merest  chance  that  Mr.  Clevents  should  have 
indulged  in  a  saunter  down  the  stage-road  directly  after 
breakfast — a  breakfast  prepared  by  Antoine,  and  by  no 
means  irreproachable.  And  his  guest,  while  walking,  was 
inwardly  debating  the  advisability  of  bringing  up  a  China- 
man he  knew  and  locating  a  cook-house,  with  the  idea  of 
feeding  High-Low — for  a  consideration. 

In  fact,  Mr.  Clevents  did  several  things  besides  play  a 
scientific  game.  Few  of  the  floating  population  of  the 
mining  country  noticed  more  closely  than  he  did  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  prosperity  and  the  signs  that  prophesied  that 
state.  And  High-Low,  though  but  in  its  infancy,  seemed 
promising  enough  to  come  back  to.  Somebody  would 
come  in  there  with  a  boom  some  day  and  locate  a  gambling- 
house,  and  Mr.  Clevents  had  an  idea  of  forestalling  any 
such  ambitious  one.  Some  men  he  knew  had  bought  up 
shares  in  the  "  Dell "  mine,  and  enough  promising  stuff  had 
been  found  in  it  to  warrant  more  extensive  operations. 
Mr.  Raeforth  had  perceived  that  fact,  had  been  advised  of 
it  by  Dunbar  for  months  past,  and,  when  once  he  took  time 
to  give  it  his  personal  attention,  he  immediately  took  steps  to 


128  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

give  it  a  show,  if  it  had  metal  in  it  worth  showing.  Unlimited, 
supplies  for  energetic  work  had  been  secured  at  Farwell, 
also  other  laborers  who  were  to  follow;  and  wherever  a 
corporation  made  a  show  of  that  sort,  Clevents  knew  that 
the  independent  workers  were  not  long  in  following,  and 
securing  their  own  little  claims  as  near  the  town  as  possi- 
ble. And  so  Mr.  Clevents  came  ahead  of  the  boom,  and 
was  somewhat  surprised  to  find  that  a  couple  of  ladies  had 
arrived  ahead  of  him. 

He  had  not  yet  spoken  to  them,  as  their  abode  was  some- 
what removed  from  the  town  proper — or  improper;  but 
he  had  met  Ewing,  and  got  on  friendly  footing  with  him 
easier  than  with  Ewing's  partner. 

He  smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  the  partner's  un- 
compromising attitude  and  boyish  cheek.  He  rather  liked 
it,  just  as  he  had  liked  the  youthfulness  in  that  other  part 
Indian  thing  who  had  used  the  knife  so  ruthlessly. 

"  If  there  were  any  process  by  which  one  could  keep  them 
always  young,  they  would  make  a  good-looking  pair,"  he 
decided;  "but  the  squaws  get  so  infernally  ugly  as  they  get 
old.  Five  years  from  now  she'll  be  a  good  deal  of  a  beast, 
I  suppose,  and  he'll  be  a  quarrelsome  tough,  with  some  of 
his  fine  features  battered  up  by  fights." 

He  stopped  and  looked  down  at  the  straggly  settlement 
with  something  of  disgust  on  his  face.  Perhaps,  remem- 
bering the  associations  of  it  and  like  places,  he  was  won- 
dering how  so  many  men  as  do  happened  to  emerge  from 
such  surroundings  and  walk  again  with  the  luckier  children 
of  the  earth. 

And  yet  it  all  looked  so  much  a  picture  of  peace  and  the 
atmosphere  surrounding  it  so  entirely  sylvan — the  tiny 
houses  of  new  spruce,  touched  here  and  there  with  the 
green  of  mosses,  and  farther  along  the  road  the  white  tents 
of  those  who  had  no  time  for  building,  and,  high  above,  the 


MR.  CLEVENTS  TAKES  NOTES.  129 

green-draped  rise  of  the  range,  with  the  western  slope  yet 
vaguely  tender  in  tone  from  the  mists  of  the  morning. 

"  Looks  like  a  camp-meeting  site,"  he  thought,  grimly.  "  A 
camp-meeting,  without  the  disturbing  commotion  a  sky-pilot 
stirs  up  later  in  the  day,  looks  better  in  the  morning;  and 
I  wonder  if  the  worms  of  earth  down  there  were  weighed  in 
the  godly  scales  of  civilization  which  element  would  get  the 
heft  of  the  crowns  and  wings — the  degraded  half-breeds,  or 
the  white  men  who  have  made  them  what  they  are? " 

Mr.  Clevents  happened  to  be  able  to  view  this  moral 
question  from  an  entirely  impersonal  standpoint,  as  half- 
breeds  had  never  appealed  to  his  rather  fastidious  tastes,  and 
those  of  the  mixed  blood  and  many-tinted  tendencies  who 
dwelt  in  the  sacred-looking  valley  seemed  to  his  mind  a  little 
nearer  the  brotherhood  of  Beelzebub  than  the  usual  hordes. 

Except,  of  course,  the  two  young  people  who  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  impress  him  differently;  and  it  was  hard 
to  realize  that  they  belonged  to  the  scrubs,  though  both  wore 
more  of  the  Indian  dress  than  half  the  full-blooded  reds, 
and  neither  seemed  to  care  about  admitting  relationship 
with  their  more  noble  white  ancestry.  It  may  have  been 
that  very  isolation  of  the  two  from  any  bonds  of  family 
that  moved  the  gambler  to  an  impulse  of  interest  in  them, 
that  and  their  youth  and  the  way  they  had  managed  to 
keep  clear  of  the  moral  disease  that  was  bred  in  the  air 
about  them.  He  had  in  his  mind  an  ideal  ranch  down  near 
the  Santa  Clara  Range  on  which  he  intended  locating  some 
day,  and  forever  after  be  counted  among  the  landmarks 
of  respectability;  and  he  had  an  idea  that  it  would  be  a 
good  place  for  those  two  young  nomads,  if  they  could  be 
tempted  away  from  the  more  hazardous  life  of  the  hills.  In 
fact,  Mr.  Clevents  grew  amusingly  philanthropic  in  his  idle- 
ness— for  there  was  no  chance  of  getting  up  a  game  at  thac 
early  hour  of  the  day. 
9 


130  SQUAW   jgLOUISE. 

It  was  the  day  the  new  portage  gang  was  to  come  in. 
He  remembered  that,  because  the  present  object  of  his 
existence  was  simply  to  wait  for  some  letters  he  expected 
on  it.  He  was  wondering  how  the  young  cub  would  like 
his  new  work,  when  he  heard  a  body  pressing  through  the 
thick  undergrowth  near,  and  then  he  saw  the  dark  eyes 
and  intense  face  of  the  "  other  cub  "  close  beside  him. 

She  looked  startled,  but  made  no  attempt  to  avoid  him, 
and  looked  at  him  without  speaking  as  she  stepped  into  the 
road.  But  he  saw  her  hand  raised  quickly  to  her  bosom. 
He  had  seen  a  knife  flash  from  that  covert  once,  and  smiled 
at  her  thoughts,  which  he  understood. 

"  Never  mind  that,"  he  suggested,  and  reached  out  his 
hand  to  her.  "  When  you  want  to  come  to  me,  my  girl,  I'll 
take  care  of  you,  otherwise  you  belong  to  yourself." 

She  did  not  touch  his  hand,  but  looked  embarrassed  at  his 
words.  They  were  rather  kindly,  even  pitiful,  for  he  noticed 
that  her  face  was  more  tired,  her  garments  more  torn  and 
shabby,  than  when  he  had  seen  her  last,  and  even  then  they 
were  poor. 

"Well,  you've  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  wherever  you've  been 
tramping,"  he  decided.  "You  look  all  broke  up." 

"  He  that  digs  his  food  from  the  mountain  can  not  look 
fine,"  she  answered.  "  But  I  ask  nothing  of  the  whites." 

"  You  say  that  as  if  you  were  not  almost  white  yourself, 
you  poor  young  outcast,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  more 
deliberately  than  he  had  ever  done  before,  and  recognizing 
some  elusive  change  from  the  black-eyed  young  creature  of 
rage  who  had  made  the  sensation  of  a  night  at  High-Low. 
"Where  have  you  been?  where  are  you  bound  for?" 

"  To  the  camp — Antoine's,"  she  answered,  and  then  added 
doubtfully,  "  The  minds  there  are  not  against  me  because — " 

"  Because  you  knifed  Dunbar? "  he  added,  easily.  "  Well, 
no.  Law  and  order  are  neglected  to  a  distressing  degree 


MR.  CLEVENTS  TAKES  NOTES.  131 

up  here,  so  there  is  nothing  on  the  dockets  against  you.  It 
might  have  been  different  if  it  had  been  me  you  used  the 
knife  on,  as  I  couldn't  have  been  spared.  By  the  way, 
^Ilouise,  daughter  of  La  Mestina,  why  wasn't  it  me  you  tried 
to  do  for  instead  of  Neil  Dunbar?  He  was  much  the  best 
fellow  of  the  two." 

"  Yes,"  she  agreed  in  all  seriousness,  and  moved  as  if  to 
pass  him;  but  he  turned  too,  with  an  amused  grimace  at  her 
frankness. 

"Reckon  I'll  go  along,"  he  remarked.  "  I  may  not  be  a 
winner  of  any  moral  medals  or  that  sort  of  thing,  but 
might  serve  as  an  escort  along  the  boulevards  of  High-Low, 
supposing  some  energetic  Christian  should  want  to  waylay 
you  with  Sabbath-school  questions." 

She  did  not  answer,  not  understanding  very  well  his 
manner  of  speech,  but  feeling  from  his  tone  that  his  mean- 
ing was  kind;  and  then  it  might  have  been  a  relief  to  learn 
that  there  was  really  never  a  one  to  contest  her  chosen 
master's  right  to  her.  Anyway,  she  walked  beside  him, 
glancing  stealthily  every  now  and  then  into  the  cool,  non- 
chalant face  of  the  man,  and  seeing  by  the  morning  light 
that  he  was  not  so  youthful  as  she  had  thought  that  night 
at  Antoine's.  The  fact,  however,  gave  her  no  added  confi- 
dence in  him.  The  worst  of  the  white  men  she  had  ever 
seen  were  the  older  ones,  and  some  who  were  very  wicked 
could  speak  gently  as  this  one. 

"  Have  you  brought  your  mother,  the  princess,  back  with 
you? "  he  queried,  not  thinking  but  what  they  were 
together. 

But  the  girl  raised  her  hand  with  a  little  un-Indian 
gesture  of  protest. 

"  Nah!   there  is  no  mother  to  me.    I  claim  no  people; 
none." 
<    "Oh!    so  you've    got  that   sort  of  spunk,  have  you? 


132  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

Good  enough!  And  now  look  here,  my  girl,  I'm  going  to 
talk  to  you  like  a  Dutch  uncle,  or  any  other  patriarch. 
How  would  you  like  to  live  in  a  good  home,  where  you 
wouldn't  need  to  dig  your  feed  from  the  mountains;  where 
you  could  learn  in  schools  like  white  girls;  have  good 
clothes  all  your  life,  and  no  one  to  boss  you  but  a  little 
girl,  who  is  kind  as  an  angel  to  everyone?  What  do  you 
say? " 

"  I,  "Louise,  go  to  no  man's  house,"  she  answered,  curtly; 
"  I  want  only  to  be  let  alone." 

In  her  thoughts  were  memories  of  other  Indian  girls  and 
women  whom  she  had.  seen  in  white  men's  houses.  Some 
lived  now  in  the  cabins  of  High-Low.  All  of  the  life  the 
girl  had  seen  she  feared. 

".What  have  you  been  drinking,  ^louise?"  he  asked, 
impatiently.  "  Can't  you  understand  what  I  mean?  It's  a 
chum  for  a  little  white  girl  I  want,  not  one  for  myself." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No!  no  white  woman;  the  ice  and  the  wolves  are 
better.  If  I  live,  well;  if  I  starve,  there  is  room  on  the 
mountains.  I  will  fall  across  no  man's  path." 

"  Someone  told  me  you  had  a  friend  in  a  half-breed 
priest  of  this  country,"  he  said,  suddenly;  "  what  is  his 
name? " 

"  Brother  Henri?  Oh,  he  is  away  over  there,"  and  she 
pointed  back  over  the  mountains  to  the  west.  "  Yes,  he 
was  good;  but  he  will  not  care  now,  may  be.  I  am  out 
of  the  church.  I  have  been  evil  in  heart,"  and  her 
head  bent  humbly  in  the  confession. 

He  thought  she  meant  the  hurt  to  Dunbar. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  let  go  my  pew  in  church  on  that 
account,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  We're  a  long  time  dead, 
young  lady,  and  while  we  have  our  stop-over  checks  for  a 
picnic  on  earth,  don't  spoil  your  day's  sport  by  sighs  or 


MR.  CLEVENTS   TAKES   NOTES.  133 

snivels.  Understand?  And  if  you've  any  friends  to  ask 
advice  of,  just  tell  them  I've  offered  you  a  healthy  home, 
when  you  want  to  strike  the  trail  to  it.  Where  do  you  live, 
anyway? " 

" Konaway  kah"  (everywhere),  she  answered,  curtly,  and 
not  another  word  could  he  get  from  her  in  King  George 
wau-wau  (English  talk).  She  would  reply  when  he 
addressed  her,  but  the  replies  were  in  Chinook,  which  he 
might  understand  if  he  could,  and  he  generally  couldn't. 
And  to  his  amusement  and  impatience  ^llouise  would  coun- 
tenance questioning  no  further. 

But  he  nevertheless  walked  nonchalantly  beside  her 
along  the  road,  seeming  not  to  notice  the  curiosity  of  the 
inhabitants.  All  recognized  the  Indian  girl,  and  seeing  her 
thus  in  company  with  the  man  who  had  won  her,  High-Low 
grinned  a  little,  and  formed  conclusions  in  keeping  with  its 
general  tendencies. 

But  her  escort  might  have  had  a  real  princess  royal  in 
charge  from  the  superior  manner  by  which  he  ignored  the 
ordinary  public. 

"  Give  her  some  breakfast  to  begin  with,  Antoine,"  he  sug- 
gested, as  the  girl  halted  at  the  plank  counter;  "  she  looks 
as  though  she  needed  a  bracer,  and  not  a  bottled  one,  either." 

filouise  shook  her  head. 

"  But  it  is  the  bottle  I  want  filled,"  she  said,  and  laid  the 
flask  Redney  had  given  her  on  the  bar.  Antoine  picked  it 
up  and  looked  at  it. 

"Ah!  who  is  it  for  that  you  carry  the  drink?"  he  asked, 
teasingly;  "  not  La  Mestina — this  never  hold  enough.  This 
bottle  did  come  from  me,  yes;  but  not  to  you.  Some 
trapper  lover,  is  it?  Ah!  yes,  yes.  But  pick  some  other 
man's  house  to  use  the  knife  in  when  his  time  comes. 
Promise,  and  I  fill  the  flask  and  charge  you  never  anything. 
It  is  so;  promise. 


134  SQUAW  £  LOUISE.      • 

She  hesitated.  The  few  little  coins  might  mean  so  much, 
yet  the  smiling  Antoine  had  never  been  liked  much  by  her, 
and  to  take  his  favors — 

"No,  she  won't  promise,"  interrupted  Mr.  Clevents. 
"  Under  the  same  provocation  she  is  liable  to  cut  a  half- 
dozen  instead  of  one.  Give  her  what  she  wants;  I'm 
responsible  this  morning." 

"  Most  sure.  I  joke  with  the  child,  that  is  all.  So  many 
years  have  I  been  acquaint  with  her — yes,  even  when  the 
hunters  did  carry  her,  and  Henri  did  lead  her — her,  the 
*  little  eagle,'  they  did  call  her  then,  and  it  is  not  sc  long 
ago.  No,  ^louise  is  yet  the  child,  though  not  the  friendly 
child — no,  no.  She  forgets  her  friends." 

"You  are  one  man's  friend,  that  is  all,"  she  answered. 

"  Oh!  you  say  so?  and  the  man?  " 

"Antoine." 

She  did  not  care  that  a  couple  of  miners  who  had 
lounged  in  were  laughing,  to  the  chagrin  of  the  courteous 
Frenchman.  She  had  so  many  memories  of  him  when  he 
was  not  courteous,  when  she,  a  half-starved  little  thing, 
had  been  driven  from  the  door  where  she  had  watched  his 
guests  eat.  She  knew  it  was  but  to  stand  well  in  the  graces 
of  a  good  customer  that  he  was  so  kind  now,  and  though 
she  could  ill  afford  to  win  enemies,  her  irritation  prompted 
the  curt  speech. 

"  Hello!  it's  the  little  squaw,"  and  one  of  the  men,  catch- 
ing sight  of  her  face,  came  forward.  "  She's  wanted  at  the 
court-house,  ain't  she?" 

He  only  said  it  to  scare  the  girl  a  little;  but  again 
Clevents  stood  between  her  and  the  words  of  the  others  by 
saying: 

"Well,  when  Dunbar  comes  back  and  makes  a  charge 
will  be  time  enough  to  settle  that,  if  it  needs  any  settling; 
so  just  let  the  young  one  alone,  can't  you?  Sit  down,  you 


MR.  CLEVENTS  TAKES  NOTES.  135 

young  eagle,  or  raven,  or  whatever  it  was  they  named  you 
— a  raven,  I  guess,  as  you  are  so  thin;  and  Elijah  seems  to 
have  given  you  the  go-by." 

He  himself  filled  a  plate  with  the  least  repelling  portions 
of  the  breakfast  remains  and  offered  it  to  her.  She  drew 
back,  looking  at  him  curiously.  He  seemed  to  her  unlike 
any  of  the  white  men  she  ever  had  seen,  and  his  manner 
that  morning  had  been  a  puzzle.  She  had  hated  him  that 
night  of  the  gambling,  yet  he  surely  was  trying  to  be  kind. 

"  Eat,  so  I  can  know  you  have  no  grudge  against  me," 
he  said;  "  I  don't  like  to  have  the  grudge  of  a  woman." 

"  The  grudge? "  she  asked,  not  understanding;  and  the 
vivacious  Antoine  interpreted. 

"The  grudge;  yes,  the  pittuck  mesahchie  (wicked 
thoughts) — you  see?  Now  you  must  show  to  the  stranger 
that  you  are  not  his  enemy.  You  only  empty  the  dish — it 
is  easy — and  no  more  grudge  is  thought." 

She  turned  curtly  from  the  interpreter  and  took  the  plate. 

t<fMahsie"  she  said,  quietly;  and  asClevents  happened  to 
understand  the  Indian  word  of  thanks,  he  knew  she  was  at 
least  reachable  by  assured  kindness,  though  her  words  were 
•brief.  And  she  would  speak  no  more  English,  possibly 
because  of  the  other  two  men  who  were  looking  at  her  so. 
She  was  growing  afraid  of  men's  eyes  and  ears.  Glances 
unnoticed  by  her  so  short  a  time  before,  now  seemed  full 
of  significance,  and  a  sort  of  terror  suddenly  took  posses- 
sion of  her,  lest  any  suspicion  might  detain  her,  or  cause 
trouble  and  loss  of  time  in  her  return  to  her  hiding-place. 

The  courage  needed  for  going  back  to  High-Low  did  not 
seem  to  her  great.  It  had  to  be  done,  that  was  all.  Of 
the  personal  danger  she  thought  not  at  all.  But  the  words 
of  the  miner,  and  the  curious  glances  she  met,  filled  her 
with  tremulous  fear;  a  fear  not  of  harm  to  herself,  but  of 
following  feet,  and  of  eyes  that  might  find  her  retreat. 


136  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

She  arose  quickly  at  the  thought  and  reached  for  the  little 
flask,  the  paper  of  crackers,  and  the  bit  of  quinine  that  had 
formed  one  of  the  strongest  reasons  for  her  trip  to  the  store. 

"Some  of  your  people  sick?"  asked  Clevents,  noting  that 
purchase;  but  she  did  not  answer,  only  held  out  her  hand  to 
Antoine,  offering  the  few  little  coins  in  payment.  And  the 
gambler,  with  a  grunt  of  impatience,  laid  his  hand  over 
hers,  closing  her  fingers  on  the  money,  and  handing  a 
dollar  to  Antoine  instead. 

"I  stand  treat  this  morning,"  he  reminded  her;  "put 
your  wealth  in  your  pocket,  Elouise.  And  now  will  you 
tell  me  where  you  are  going? " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Nor  when  you  come  back? " 

She  hesitated  at  that,  and  then,  thinking  to  stay  pursuit 
if  any  was  thought  of,  she  answered  in  English  that  the 
others  might  hear. 

"  May  be  soon,  few  days;  may  be  not.  You  see  me  when 
I  come." 

And,  with  a  look  and  gesture  of  farewell,  she  passed  him 
quickly  and  walked  swiftly  along  the  road,  back  over  the 
way  she  had  come.  There  was  a  much  nearer  way  past  the 
cabin  of  Ewing,  but  it  was  a  way  not  to  be  taken  under  the 
eyes  of  half  High-Low. 

Once  she  turned  around  and  saw  the  gambler  standing  in 
front  of  Antoine's  and  looking  after  her;  the  sight  hastened 
her  steps  and  made  her  indifferent  to  the  eyes  of  the  others 
whose  doors  she  passed.  Had  she  noticed  carefully,  she> 
would  have  seen  that  his  watching  lasted  only  until  she  had 
passed  those  doors. 

"Poor  little  devil!"  he  thought,  as  he  saw  her  walk 
through  the  territory  that  someone  should  have  the  right 
to  shield  her  from  knowledge  of.  "  Poor  little  stubborn 
imp!  But  what  can  a  gentleman  do?" 


MR.  CLEVENTS   TAKES   NOTES.  137 

Then  he  heard  Antoine  decide  that  the  girl  was  crazy. 
It  was  the  only  way  to  explain  her  late  fierceness  and  sullen 
ingratitude. 

"Think!  not  one  little  woman's  look  of  thanks  for  that 
good  gentleman's  generosity  to  her,"  and  the  speaker  knew 
well  that  the  "  good  gentleman  "  was  yet  within  hearing. 
"  But  it  is  the  head  is  wrong;  yes,  that  is  sure,  and  there  is 
no  wonder  in  that.  The  holy  church  says  that  the  sins  of 
the  parents  must  be  answered  for  by  the  children.  Yes; 
and  the  mother  of  this  one  did  spit  upon  the  cross,  and 
scratched  the  good  father  who  made  offer  of  it  to  her. 
Yes,  she  did  that  long  ago,  and  turned  back  to  the  Indian 
faith  that  dances  in  pride  among  serpents.  That  day  is  yet 
counted  a  day  of  disgrace  among  the  tribe,  for  that  day  she 
was  banished,  she  and  her  blood.  Yes,  that  is  the  story 
they  tell;  and  what  is  there  to  be  expected  of  the  child  of 
such  a  mother — struck  the  father  till  the  prints  of  her 
nails  were  left  in  the  sanctified  flesh!  And  the  child  was 
always  more  heathen  than  Christian;  and  now  she  turns 
strange  in  her  head,  and  looks  fierce  as  a  tiger's  whelp  that 
has  just  smelled  blood,  and  will  not  even  tell  who  is  the 
man  she  lives  with." 

"Here!  here!  ain't  you  coming  it  rather  strong,  my 
Christian  friend? "  asked  the  gambler,  who  had  listened  to 
the  bit  of  history  Antoine  was  chattering  as  he  washed  the 
breakfast-pans  and  whisky-glasses.  "  Who  has  mentioned 
a  man  as  being  with  her? " 

"  But  what  child  that  is  a  girl  would  live  alone  in  these 
mountains?"  asked  his  host  in  return.  "No,  not  even  the 
oldest  squaws  would  do  that.  This  one  once  before 
went  away  like  that — yes,  and  because  she  was  so  young 
all  were  afraid  she  was  eaten  by  the  wild  things;  but 
no,"  and  his  smile  was  not  a  charitable  one,  "nothing  she 
feared  had  troubled  her,  though  we  never  learned  who  it 


138  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

was  kept  her  company.  And  then  Brother  Henri— our 
priest,  you  know — he  happens  here  after  a  week  had  gone 
by.  All  tell  to  him  that  the  child  filouise  is  lost — is,  may 
be,  food  for  the  beasts;  and  what  does  he  do?  He  but  asks 
some  little  questions,  and  departs  quickly,  and  when  the 
night  come  Priest  Henri  comes  too — with  filouise.  He 
had  found  her,  though  none  knows  where,  nor  with  whom. 
That  is  but  a  year  ago,  and  she  promised  then  to  be  wicked 
no  more — promised  the  priest;  but  that  is  a  year,  and  the 
priest  is  beyond  the  range,  where  the  people  are  dying  like 
cattle  with  a  strange  fever.  So  it  is,  you  see,  whoever  she 
went  with  before  has  come  back,  and  they  hide  together 
somewhere  in  the  forest.  It  is  as  one  might  expect  from 
old  Mestina's  child." 

Clevents  again  felt  that  wave  of  disgust  at  the  evidence 
that  not  even  the  child  he  had  thought  well  of  was  above 
suspicion. 

"  And  has  this  man,  this  priest,  any  real  control  over  her 
when  he  is  here? "  he  asked  at  last,  after  the  others  had 
changed  the  conversation,  and  looked  up  puzzled  when  he 
spoke. 

"Gone  on  yer  little  squaw  yourself,  ain't  ye?"  asked  one 
of  the  miners  good-humoredly;  but  Antoine  again  came 
forward  with  his  ever-ready  knowledge  of  things. 

"What — Brother  Henri?  Oh,  to  be  sure;  when  La  Mes- 
tina  could  do  nothing  with  the  whip,  a  word  from  him  would 
control  filouise — always,  even  before  he  was  of  the  priests. 
For  he  lived  with  the  tribe  before  the  school  days.  He 
went  with  the  hunters,  and  knew  every  peak  and  every 
stream.  Yes,  it  is  so;  and  it  was  he  who  climbed  once  to 
the  nest  of  an  eagle  and  brought  down  the  squaw  filouise, 
when  she  was  but  a  babe.  Ah,  the  chiefs  praised  him  for 
that;  it  was  very  brave,  they  said,  for  when  he  started  he  did 
not  think  to  return  alive.  But  it  was  he  who  had  carried  the 


MR.  CLEVENTS   TAKES   NOTES.  139 

child  away  from  the  camp,  so  his  was  the  blame;  he  must 
find  her  or  else  never  return  himself  to  the  tribe.  So  he 
thought,  and  so  he  saved  her,  crippling  the  mother-bird  and 
bearing  from  her  nest  the  child.  It  was  great  for  a  boy  to 
do — so  they  said;  and  the  child  was  Henri's  young  eagle 
after  that.  He  was  always  the  master — she  would  always 
obey,  though  for  no  one  else,  no,  not  one;  and  so  it  has 
always  been.  He  brought  her  back  from  her  hiding-place 
last  year.  He  would  make  her  return  now  if  he  was  here. 
Yes,  surely.  I  knew  him  well,  and  his  father  before  him. 
His  father  was  a  voyageur  of  the  old  company.  Yes,  a 
worthy  soul ;  married  in  holy  church  to  the  squaw  he  picked. 
She  died  so  soon  he  had  never  time  to  get  tired  of  her,  and 
to  the  last  day  he  did  praise  his  Belle  Marie;  and  the  boy 
he  was  proud  of — ah,  much!  And  the  boy  himself  kept 
pride;  yes,  though  a  priest;  proud  though  he  goes  hungry 
many  a  day  in  the  winter-time  over  there  among  the  "scrub 
reds  " — so  the  hunters  call  them.  But  he  is  most  devotional, 
yes.  I  know,  you  see,  when  he  was  but  small — " 

But  the  restless  stranger  again  left  the  interesting  Antoine 
to  the  other  miners  and  betook  himself  to  the  thoroughfare. 
The  veils  of  mist  were  wrapping  themselves  into  fleecy 
clouds  and  sailing  away  on  the  high  seas  of  air  over  the 
ranges.  Fair  nature  had  grown  several  degrees  less  fair  in 
the  eyes  of  the  gambling  humanitarian.  He  wished  mightily 
that  the  portage  gang  would  arrive,  and  the  stagnation  of 
High-Low  give  place  to  enterprise. 

Of  course  the  mere  telling  of  so  usual  a  story  as  Antoine's 
was  a  trifling  thing  in  that  region.  Why  should  not  the 
young  Indian  have  a  lover?  Other  girls  had — other  squaws. 
Yet  he  felt  angered  and  indignant  at  the  idea.  He  wanted 
to  follow,  and  hear  her  say  it  was  not  true,  but  did  not 
know  the  direction  she  had  taken. 

He  did,  however,  walk  in  her  tracks  until  he  came  where 


140  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

the  trail  left  the  "boulevard"  and  crept  up  mountain  ward; 
and  a  little  straggling  section  of  it  crept  down  to  Cascade 
Creek,  and  the  waters  of  the  cascade  were  engulfed  a  little 
below  by  the  alluring  swiftness  of  the  great  river  and  car- 
ried in  triumph  to  the  oceans. 

And  it  was  along  the  lines  of  the  river  the  new  conveyors 
were  to  come;  and  the  stranger,  bored  and  impatient,  fol- 
lowed its  downward  race  aimlessly,  not  guessing  that  the 
whispering  waters  could  have  led  him  upward  straight  to 
the  nest  of  the  wild  child  whose  abode  was  just  then  the 
one  interesting  puzzle  of  the  place  to  him — that  and  the 
financial  future  of  High-Low. 

But  a  man  must  be  very  deeply  engaged  in  financial 
problems — especially  in  the  north  Selkirk  country — if  the 
soft  laughter  of  womankind  fails  to  attract  his  attention, 
and  the  sound  of  it  floating  up  the  stream  was  so  girlish, 
so  charming  a  note  in  the  music  of  the  landscape;  and  Mr. 
Clevents  was  just  susceptible  enough  to  sweet  sounds  to  be 
drawn  down  the  stream  by  them,  and  with  a  pretty  clear 
idea  that  the  voice  must  belong  to  the  girl  High-Low  had 
reformed  for. 

It  did.  She  and  Joseph  Dyce  Ewing  and  Jo  Dyce's 
mamma  were  trying  to  navigate  a  wide,  still  pool  of  the 
cascade  by  means  of  a  dug-out  and  one  paddle.  That  is, 
Miss  Delia  was  doing  the  navigating,  and  Mrs.  Ewing  and 
the  baby  were  watching  her  from  a  safe  nook  on  the  shore, 
and  all  of  them  laughing  at  the  stubborn  circles  the  dug- 
out persisted  in  describing. 

"  I'm  sure  Chief  Simon  did  not  have  to  work  so  hard  as 
this,"  panted  the  amateur  canoeist,  "  and  he  moved  in  a  beau- 
tiful straight  line,  while  this  vessel  seems  to  be  going 
around  on  a  pivot." 

"  May  be  you  are  in  the  clutches  of  some  marine  mon- 
ster," laughed  Mrs.  Ewing.  "  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  saw 
you  look  helpless  and  funny." 


MR.  CLEVENTS  TAKES  NOTES.  141 

"  Well,  I  don't  feel  funny,"  declared  the  girl."  Just  stop 
laughing  and  look  at  the  thing;  right  around  in  a  circle.  I 
suppose  I'll  have  to  go  whirling  on  down  to  Farwell  like 
this.  I  can't  even  get  the  bewitched  thing  in  to  shore." 

And  then  Mrs.  Ewing  almost  screamed  as  Mr.  Clevents 
spoke  just  back  of  her,  advising  the  captain  of  the  canoe 
to  ship  her  paddle  for  a  moment,  and  see  what  the  dug-out 
would  do  if  left  to  itself. 

The  thing  it  did  was  to  swing  itself  around  once  more 
and  take  lodging  in  the  roots  of  a  tree  that  had  been  swept 
from  its  moorings  by  some  freshet;  and  from  that  point  of 
vantage  Miss  Delia  met  again  the  eyes  that  had  drifted 
past  her  in  the  dark  of  the  narrows. 

"  This  is  all  very  well,  so  far  as  it  goes,"  she  agreed,  "but 
I  can't  see  that  I'm  making  much  headway." 

"  If  you  will  accept  me  as  pilot — " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  deliberated.  "  There  is  a  heartless 
creature  on  the  shore  there  who  has  been  jubilant  over  my 
danger;  now  if  you  could  only  inveigle  her  on  board,  and 
make  her  share  the  delights  of  canoeing,  as  a  penance — " 

But  Mrs.  Ewing  retreated  at  the  suggestion. 

"  I  would  not  risk  my  life  on  one  of  those  logs  for  the 
world,"  she  declared;  "  and  if  you,  sir,  can  only  get  her  on 
dry  land  once  more  I'll  manage  to  keep  her  here  if  I  have 
to  use  ropes." 

And  as  the  stranger  smiled  at  her  vehemence,  Mrs. 
Ewing  decided  that  the  smile  made  him  almost  handsome; 
and  the  way  in  which  he  drifted  a  log  down  to  the  sub- 
merged roots  and  made  a  bridge  from  it  to  the  shore  won 
her  admiration  entirely.  It  really  made  the  little  episode 
seem  like  a  real  adventure;  and  Miss  Delia  was  a  pretty 
picture  of  a  maid  forlorn  as  she  was  towed  meekly  along 
the  log  in  her  tipsy  dug-out,  a  failure  as  a  canoeist. 

"  I  had  an  idea  it  was  a  trade,  but  it  is  an  art,"  she  com- 
plained, "  and  I  am  not  one  of  the  artists.  One  has  to  be 


142  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

born  to  it,  I  suppose,  just  as  that  royal  Simon  was,  and 
your  boatman  who  took  your  canoe  like  an  arrow  down  the 
narrows  that  evening." 

"  Then  you  remember  me?  That  is  something  unlooked 
for." 

"  I  remember  your  face  now  quite  well,"  said  Mrs. 
Ewing,  with  a  belated  idea  of  the  conventional.  "  We  met 
too  few  travelers  to  forget  any;  and  I  think  my  husband 
knows  you.  I  am  Mrs.  Ewing." 

"And  this  the  future  governor-general  of  High-Low," 
added  the  girl,  introducing  Jo  Dyce,  who  blinked  know- 
ingly from  one  to  the  other,  and  clinging  to  Mr.  Clevents' 
offered  finger  cemented  at  once  an  acquaintance  entertain- 
ing on  both  sides. 

"  Oh,  did  you  come  down  that  path? "  asked  Miss  Rae- 
forth,  with  sudden  remembrance,  pointing  up  where  the 
mountain  trail  led.  "  We  saw  a  picture  up  there  a  little 
while  ago  and  are  curious  about  it." 

"  Yes,  a  pretty  girl  in  Indian  dress,  who  fairly  ran  up 
that  cliff,"  said  Mrs.  Ewing,  "  and  halted  there,  looking 
back  as  if  someone  were  following;  but  no  one  seemed  to 
be,  and  then  she  ran  on,  never  seeing  us  along  the  shore  in 
the  bushes.  She  was  so  pretty.  I  have  seen  no  girls  about 
here  who  look  like  her." 

Mr.  Clevents  favored  her  with  a  close  glance  of  scrutiny. 
How  much  did  she  know?  Did  either  of  them  know  of  the 
Indian  girl's  history?  He  hesitated  thoughtfully,  and  was 
released  from  the  dilemma  by  Miss  Raeforth  remarking: 

"  I  think  she  is  the  one  called  Elouise,  a  daughter  of  a 
legendary  and  drunken  princess,  of  whom  we  hear  rumors. 
I  thought  you  might  be  able  to  decide  the  question." 

"  You  are  right,"  agreed  Mr.  Clevents,  with  a  sudden 
return  of  memory.  "  That  is  just  who  it  is.  I  noticed  her 
in  camp  this  morning;  but  she  is  too  wild  for  the  settle- 
ments, and  has  gone  back  to  the  hills,  I  suppose." 


MR.  CLEVENTS   TAKES   NOTES.  143 

"Mr.  Redney  told  me  of  her  and  of  her  interesting 
mamma,  and  I  should  like  to  see  her  within  speaking  dis- 
tance, but  have  so  far  failed." 

Mr.  Clevents  noticed  that  Mrs.  Ewing  gave  him  a  quick 
little  appealing  glance  as  the  girl  filouise  was  mentioned. 
He  felt  ashamed,  and  instinctively  raised  his  hat  in 
acknowledgment  of  her  trust,  and  wished  he  had  never 
seen  the  perplexing  little  half-breed.  He  was  sure  from 
Mrs.  Ewing's  conscious  manner  that  she  had  heard  of  that 
troublesome  game  of  chance  at  Antoine's,  just  as  he  was 
certain  from  Miss  Raeforth's  outspoken  interest  that  she 
had  not. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she's  an  independent  oddity  up  here;  more 
like  a  boy  than  a  girl,  only  the  boys  won't  work  as  a  gen- 
eral thing,  and  this  one  does — makes  moccasins  and  all 
sorts  of  beaded  stuff,  and  sells  them  at  the  trading-posts." 

"  Then  I,  for  one,  intend  to  invest  in  a  complete  outfit 
of  beaded  deer-skin,"  declared  the  girl;  "and  I  shall 
endeavor  to  see  her  the  next  time  she  comes  to  the 
settlement." 

"But  that  is  most  indefinite,"  explained  Mr.  Clevents,  as 
he  finished  his  work  of  dragging  the  dug-out  up  on  shore 
for  the  next  canoeist  to  wrestle  with.  "  Her  visits  to  High- 
Low  are  far  between,  and  where  she  camps  no  one  knows; 
civilization  knows  little  about  her." 

"Just  the  reason  she  arouses  my  interest,"  said  Miss 
Raeforth.  "  She  must  be  an  original  to  live  alone  in  the 
wildness  of  these  mountains.  Why,  it  is  appalling  to  think 
of! — among  wild  beasts  and  serpents  and  occasional  out- 
laws of  humanity." 

"Oh,  there  are  few  of  those  up  here,"  returned  Mr. 
Clevents.  "  We  may  be  outcasts  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
but  so  long  as  we  are  alive  we  are  accepted  citizens  in  this 
territory.  When  we  get  too  bad  to  live,  they  make  angels 


144  SQUAW   £  LOUISE. 

of  us,  with  the  aid  of  a  rope;  so,  you  see,  the  imperfect 
among  us  are  not  allowed  to  live  long." 

"  Of  course  that  tends  toward  giving  us  an  exalted  idea 
of  those  yet  in  the  flesh,"  laughed  the  girl;  "  but,  say  what 
you  will,  we  have  seen  some  specimens  very  much  alive 
who  looked  more  impish  than  angelic." 

"  Notably  your  delirium  tremens  character,"  said  Mrs. 
Ewing,  and  Mr.  Clevents  looked  his  inquiry.  "We  don't 
quite  know  who  was  delirious  in  this  case,"  she  continued, 
teasingly.  "  It  may  have  been  Miss  Raeforth  instead  of 
the  individual  she  thought  she  saw  on  the  sacred  corner  of 
Thunder  Mountain.  She  has  only  to-day  divulged  to  me 
the  extent  of  her  imaginings  up  there." 

"On  a  promise  that  my  audience  would  abstain  from 
ridicule  or  gossip  of  the  adventure,"  interpolated  the 
accused;  "  and  this  is  how  she  keeps  her  word." 

"  Well,  really,  I  don't  see  your  reason  for  secrecy  in  the 
matter,  even  if  you  did  stumble  on  some  unknown  up 
there,"  said  Mrs.  Ewing,  in  defense  of  her  gossiping. 

"7/1  saw  him!  And,  so  please  you,  I  had  not  a  reason 
in  the  world  against  proclaiming  the  fact;  the  reason,  if 
there  were  any,  was  Mr.  Re'dney's." 

Mr.  Clevents  suddenly  picked  up  his  ears.  "  Was  your 
unknown  specimen  a  chum  of  Redney's?" 

"  Redney  could  not  say,  as  the  apparition  was  only  visi- 
ble to  my  own  eyes.  Oh,  it  was  only  a  drunken  man,  I 
suppose,  sleeping  in  the  sun  up  there  near  the  summit.  I 
only  got  a  glimpse  of  him,  and  when  I  sent  our  guide  back 
he  had  vanished.  To  save  the  nerves  of  the  others,  we 
agreed  not  to  mention  it;  and  now  this  doubting  Thomasa 
does  not  believe  I  had  that  adventure  at  all.  She'll  be 
trying  to  lessen  the  importance  of  my  canoe  adventure  next 
thing." 

"  If  so,  call  on  me,"  he  said,  with  a  shade  of  flattering 


MR.  CLEVENTS   TAKES   NOTES.  145 

seriousness  back  of  his  jesting  words;  "  the  importance  of 
it  will  be  remembered  for  the  rest  my  vacation  on  this 
globe — its  importance  to  me." 

The  two  ladies  smiled  a  little.  They  both  rather  liked 
him;  he  could  say  such  common  things  with  such  an  un- 
common air,  while  compared  with  the  average  citizen  of 
High-Low,  he  shone  forth  as  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene, 
and  the  romanticism  of  their  first  meeting  still  clung  with 
a  little  air  of  mystery  about  him.  He  had  been  another 
shadowy  problem  of  the  Selkirks  for  the  girl  to  guess  at;  an 
attractive  one,  too,  and,  to  her  delight,  as  much  interested 
in  the  complex  character  of  the  country  as  herself,  lend- 
ing a  most  respectful  ear  to  her  tale  of  the  day  on  Thunder 
Mountain  and  the  legendary  history  she  had  gathered  from 
Redney.  Not  even  a  dubious  smile  touched  his  lips  as  she 
described  the  bearded  apparition  that  haunted  the  sacred 
highlands,  and  after  Mrs.  Ewing's  skepticisms,  his  belief  was 
a  balm  to  her  feelings;  and  Mr.  Clevents,  gambler,  pros- 
pector, and  gentleman  of  leisure,  found  himself  walking 
home  with  two  of  the  most  thorough  ladies  he  had  been  on 
speaking  terms  with,  and  was  treated  with  decided  gracious- 
ness  by  the  prettiest,  most  bewitching  little  girl  he  had 
known  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life.  But  all  the  charm  of 
his  unusual  luck  did  not  deter  him  from  making  mental  notes 
— notes  he  hoped  to  use  for  the  saving  of  the  girl  so  unlike 
this  childish  beauty — for  the  girl  who  lived  somewhere 
among  the  phantoms  of  the  walled-in  highlands. 


10 


146  SQUAW   fLOUISE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
HER  MOTHER'S  STORY. 

AND  up  there,  with  the  phantoms  of  her  past  people  about 
her,  the  young  squaw  was  growing  into  the  most  capricious, 
though  devoted,  of  guardians.  As  Dunbar  grew  stronger, 
she  grew  more  boyish,  more  distant  and  defiant,  trying  to 
gather  up  scattered  bits  of  pride,  that  always  fled  from  her 
at  a  note  of  pain  in  his  voice,  or  the  sight  of  feeble, 
dragging  steps  with  which  he  followed  her  at  times  to  the 
fishing-place. 

"  You  are  like  several  different  people,"  he  complained, 
"  yet  not  like  any  woman,  filouise.  You  are  as  changea- 
ble as  an  Indian  witch.  Are  you  one?" 

She  smiled,  for  there  were  notes  of  content  in  his  speech 
despite  his  words,  and  his  content  meant  all  of  happiness 
to  her. 

"  No  witch;  just  ^louise.  The  change  is  in  your  eyes. 
I  am  the  same,  while  you  grow  stronger.  The  sickness  will 
soon  be  gone." 

"And  then?" 

Moodiness  like  a  cloud  of  April  fell  over  her  face,  but 
she  said: 

"  There  are  already  many  moccasins  made  for  the  post; 
when  Redney  comes  again  he  will  take  them.  Then  there 
will  be  dollars  for  you." 

"  And  then  we  will  say  good-by  to  this,"  and  he  pointed 
to  the  refuge  that  had  been  also  a  prison.  But  she  only 
looked  at  him  sadly;  he  seemed  so  glad  at  the  thought  of 
going. 


HER  MOTHER'S  STORY.  147 

"May  be,  may  be  not,"  she  answered  at  last.  "The 
mountain  is  the  best  home  for  the  Indian." 

"  But  you  are  not  even  half  Indian,"  he  protested.  "  Do 
you  dislike  so  much  the  white  blood  in  you?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it  is  true.  I  have  never  liked  well  the 
white  people." 

"  Oh!  "  and  he  looked  at  her  with  the  soft  protest  in  eyes 
and  voice.  "  Then  why  have  you  liked  me  well  enough  to 
hide  me  and  nurse  me?" 

"  I  know  not,"  she  said,  lowly;  but  the  slow  red  crept  up 
to  her  brow,  and  he,  seeing  it,  smiled  and  reached  his  hand 
toward  her. 

"  Yet  you  will  not  come  near,"  he  complained,  as  if  her 
blush  had  been  an  audible  avowal  of  affection.  "You 
make  me  miserable;  don't  you  see  that?  You  might  better 
have  let  me  die  than  to  never  forgive  me.  Your  reproach 
hurts  me,  for  your  silence  is  reproach.  Are  you  going  to 
hurt  me  always? " 

Her  troubled,  pained  gaze  made  him  drop  his  own  eyes; 
it  disconcerted  him  with  a  wistfulness,  a  devotion  so  beyond 
him,  though  she  could  only  repeat,  confusedly,  "  I  know 
not." 

And  she  spoke  truly — she  knew  not.  The  pain  and  the 
pleasure  dealt  her  by  his  words  were  as  shrouded  meanings 
from  an  unknown  world. 

The  warm,  quick  throbs  of  her  heart  answered  to  every 
tone  of  his  voice;  but  the  heart  beat  against  such  bars  of 
pain,  bars  that  kept  her  prisoned  from  the  joy  of  his  com- 
plete approval,  though  all  the  young,  wild  soul  of  her  was 
already  bartered  to  Manitou  for  the  mere  silence  and 
secrecy  of  life  with  him. 

At  first,  when  he  had  said  "  we  will  go  away,"  she  had 
grasped  at  the  hope  that  was  when  he  was  weak  as  a  child 
and  wholly  dependent  on  her.  But  he  was  not  quite  the 


148  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

same.  She  scarcely  knew  what  boon  to  ask  of  her  Indian 
god  now;  but  she  was  growing  afraid — afraid." 

"If  you  are  so  cold,  so  unforgiving,  you  will  kill  me  yet/' 
he  persisted,  through  sheer  lack  of  any  excitement  but  that 
of  making  love  to  the  odd,  boyish  nature  that  looked  her 
devotion,  but  locked  her  lips  from  fond  speech.  Even  her 
hands  she  would  draw  from  him  angrily  if  he  clasped  them, 
the  hands  guilty  of  that  murderous  knife-thrust. 

"  Did  you  nurse  me  back  to  life  only  to  make  me  un- 
happy? "  he  would  ask;  and  the  young  heathen  heart  would 
ache  anew  at  his  fancied  misery. 

"  I  do  what  I  can;  I  am  only  poor,"  she  would  answer, 
and  work  harder  and  longer  to  gain  the  luxuries  needed 
for  his  content,  never  daring  to  quite  believe  that  she  her- 
self was  one  of  the  wished-for  things  of  his  present. 

The  past  was  gone.  It  had  held  pleasures  and  hopes, 
but  they  seemed  now  to  have  belonged  to  some  other  man. 
He  was  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  life  in  the  world;  he  could 
see  no  future  yet,  nothing  beyond  the  walls  on  the  heights 
and  the  girl  who  seemed  the  guardian  angel  of  them. 

But  his  sick  fancies  turned  with  longing  to  dreams  of 
carpeted  floors  and  lace-draped  windows,  to  luxuries  un- 
cared  for  for  years  that  suddenly  awoke  in  him;  to  the 
restful,  esthetic  atmosphere  of  some  libraries  and  studios 
remembered  by  the  man  he  had  been;  a  desire  to  hear 
again  the  cultured  tones  of  the  world  left  behind;  to  revel 
again  in  the  alluring  surroundings  of  dramatic  or  musical 
life;  to  come  in  touch  once  more  with  the  spirit  of  a 
fastidious  civilization  from  which  he  had  drifted. 

But  all  that  was  of  the  past.  The  present  had  moored 
him  to  a  cliff  dwelling  and  a  young  savage  whom  he  might 
have  loved  if  he  had  not  seen  in  her  merely  a  slave  who 
was  devoted.  It  is  not  devotion  men  love,  but  change. 

And  his  own  moods,  now  fondly  content  with  sylvan 


HER  MOTHER'S  STORY.  149 

beauties,  and  again  moodily  at  war  with  his  prison,  would 
communicate  themselves  to  the  girl. 

And  the  girl,  watching  his  face  and  the  lights  and 
shadows  in  it,  said  suddenly  one  day  as  he  lay  listless: 

"You  think  of  her,  the  girl  in  the  picture?  Is  it  that  you 
look  sorry  for? " 

"You  are  an  Indian  witch,  ^llouise,"  he  returned.  "  How 
did  you  know  that?" 

"  You  want  her  so  much — you  love  the  thoughts  of  her?  " 
she  persisted;  and  he  smiled  at  her  tone,  and  tried  to  kiss 
the  hand  nearest  him,  but  she  lifted  it  and  drew  back. 

"  Do  you? "  she  said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  after  a  moment  of 
thought.  "  I  long  for  the  things  she  is  a  part  of,  the  things 
you  do  not  understand  yet,  filouise — the  refined  life,  the 
gentle  speech — " 

"  Does  speech  ungentle  ever  come  to  you  here? "  was  all 
she  said. 

"Here?"  and  her  sad  tones  touched  him  with  self- 
reproach.  "  Never,  filouise;  your  kindness  is  too  great. 
But  you  do  not  understand;  this  place,  that  would  be 
beautiful  from  choice,  is  growing  like  a  prison." 

"  You  are  not  alone  in  it;  I  live  the  life  too." 

"  But  you  are  free;  you  go  as  you  will,  and  see  other 
faces,  talk  to  other  men." 

"  It  is  that  I  have  to;  their  faces  are  nothing  to  me." 

"  Sure?"  and  he  smiled  at  her  disdain.  '•  Is  there  never 
a  face  you  remember  kindly  on  your  way  back  to  me — 
never  a  voice  whose  words  you  carry  in  your  thoughts?" 

She  might  have  answered,  truthfully,  "Yes,  yours;"  it 
seemed  the  confession  his  eyes  were  wooing.  But  she 
looked  away  from  him,  and  felt  remorsefully  that  she  had 
thought  many  times  through  the  day  of  the  man  who  had 
offered  her  a  home  away  beyond  the  hills. 


150  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"It  is  true,"  she  said  at  last,  "of  one  man  I  have  thought, 
but  he  is  not  young;  he  is  only  kind,  and  he  offered  me 
schools  and  a  warm  home  where  his  daughter  is." 

"  Who  is  it?  "  he  demanded,  with  a  sudden  spirit  of  antag- 
onism, and  her  truthfulness  was  ended  as  she  answered, 
"A  stranger — many  are  coming  up  the  river  now;  but  I 
never  think  of  them." 

"When  did  you  see  him?" 

"  It  was  when  I  went  to  the  camp  for  the  medicine.  He 
made  them  be  kind  to  me  at  Antoine's,  and  that  is  all." 

"  Yet  it  is  enough  to  give  you  other  words  than  mine  to 
think  of  ;  it  is  enough  to  show  you  are  free,  while  I  am  in 
prison,"  he  complained.  "  How  do  you  suppose  I  feel  shut 
up  here  and  knowing  that  other  men  are  looking  at  you, 
wanting  you,  offering  you  homes — " 

He  stopped,  half-choked  by  the  feelings  his  own  words 
had  stirred  in  him.  The  regret  for  it  all,  the  pity  of  it  all, 
and  prophecies  of  ostracism  he  had  evoked,  made  his  voice 
falter.  She  saw  the  tears  shine  in  his  eyes  and  heard  the 
tremble  in  his  voice — for  her  or  for  himself  ?  Woman-like, 
she  credited  him  with  the  unselfishness  that  was  her  own. 

"What  difference  what  men  say?  In  my  heart  is  no  pict- 
ure of  them.  I  think  only  of  you  when  they  talk;  I  run 
to  you  when  away  from  their  eyes;  I — " 

He  caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  pressing  his  face  rapt- 
urously against  the  poor  skirt  of  her  dress. 

"  You  think  only  of  me? "  he  whispered,  looking  up  at 
her.  "  Ah,  my  wild  bird  of  the  mountain,  why  have  you 
waited  so  long  before  telling  me?  You  must  never  be  cold 
to  me  again;  of  what  use  is  it  when  you  have  said  you 
think  only  of  me?  Do  you  not  know  I  will  remember  that 
always? " 

The  hands  he  had  kissed  were  crossed  on  her  breast, 
tight — tight.  The  cross  of  the  church  she  had  thrown 


HER  MOTHER'S  STORY.  151 

away,  but  that  of  a  new  religion  had  fallen  on  her;  its 
weight  had  forced  words  to  her  lips  that  were  not  to  be 
recalled.  "Always,  always,"  she  said,  under  her  breath, 
but  the  vow,  if  it  was  that,  seemed  less  to  him  than  to  some 
invisible  thing  beyond  and  above,  to  which  she  flung  out 
her  arms  in  an  expressive  gesture;  and  then,  covering  her 
face,  she  walked  away,  not  turning  or  halting  once  at  sound 
of  his  pleading  voice  that  called  to  her. 

The  sun  was  going  down,  and  the  shadow  of  the  mount- 
ain already  fell  on  the  lower  hills.  He  waited  until  the 
fever  of  gladness  and  wonder  would  let  him  wait  no  longer. 
Was  there  ever  such  a  wild,  serious  sweetheart  as  this 
mountain  girl?  It  even  seemed  a  bit  of  a  pity  to  tame  her; 
he  had  never  found  tame  squaws  interesting.  That  thought 
checked  him  a  moment — just  as  the  very  beauty  of  a  blos- 
som will  at  times  stay  the  hand  stretched  for  its  possession, 
and  one  passes  on  with  a  little  sense  of  strength  and  con- 
tent in  the  thought  that  its  sweetness  is  untarnished  by 
your  temptation. 

Some  such  restraint  of  conscience  or  sense  of  esthetic 
fitness  made  him  halt  just  so  at  the  thought  of  filouise 
''civilized,"  and  living  the  life  of  the  average  "  white  man's 
squaw." 

But  was  he  an  average  man  ?  Surely  not.  The  circum- 
stances were  exceptional.  Fate  had  set  them  aside  from 
the  rest  of  humanity.  He  had  only  her,  she  had  only  him, 
in  the  whole  world. 

Is  not  one's  own  case  always  exceptionable?    It  is  only  ' 
the  other  fellow  for  whom  there  are  no  extenuating  circum- 
stances. 

He  was  tired  and  breathless  ere  he  reached  her,  though 
he  was  sure  she  had  not  gone  far.  A  grotto  near  the  top 
of  the  cliff,  with  a  low  bench  of  stone  half  across  it,  was  a 
retreat  she  had  led  him  to  once.  From  it  one  could  look 


152  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

as  the  eagle  looks  on  the  earth  below;  and  the  young  sav- 
age was  like  one,  he  thought,  as  he  climbed  up  the  waver- 
ing, uncertain  way  to  her  nest. 

But  something  besides  the  eagle  heart  beat  in  the  young 
breast  under  the  sign  of  Manitou,  for  she  knelt  at  the  stone 
bench  as  at  an  altar,  and  her  hands,  flung  out  before  her, 
were  clasped  in  a  rigid  manner  of  silent  supplication. 

She  seemed  for  the  first  time  helpless  and  appealing  to 
him,  and  a  virtuous  sense  of  chivalry  rose  above  his  weak- 
ness. To  draw  her  close  to  him  and  protect  her  from  the 
world  and  the  evil  of  it — to  keep  her  just  this  childish, 
devotional  pagan — some  such  thought  was  with  him  as  he 
dropped  beside  her.  He  even  thought  of  his  mother — 
long  dead — by  whose  side  he  had  knelt  as  he  was  kneeling 
now.  But  at  his  touch  the  girl  broke  away,  leaving  the 
bench,  or  altar,  between  them,  and  leaning,  tearful  and  defi- 
ant, against  the  far  wall. 

"Nah!"  she  said,  with  her  expressive  hands — Indian 
hands — reached  toward  him.  "It  is  wrong  to  follow.  I 
am  your  slave  to  work,  if  you  want — always;  but  the  words 
that  white  men  say  to  Indian  women  must  not  be  heard 
with  us.  They  bring  the  curses  of  the  spirits — we  have 
enough." 

"filouise!"  He  saw  her  mouth  tremble  at  the  mere 
sound  of  his  voice.  "  Listen,  ^louise.  I  will  guard — pro- 
tect—" 

"  I  can  guard,"  she  answered,  briefly,  with  averted  eyes, 
but  relaxing  nothing  of  her  attitude.  To  look  in  his  eyes 
and  hear  him  plead  was  more  than  she  could  bear  without 
confessing  to  the  thing  that  might  make  him  hate  her. 
Her  life  seemed  very  hard  to  her,  poor  child!  She  was 
happy,  miserable,  and  bewildered,  and  afraid — afraid  of  the 
net  that  had  been  thrown,  with  a  sort  of  magic,  about  her. 
"  I  can  guard,"  she  repeated,  mechanically,  "  from  enemies, 
from—" 


HER  MOTHER'S  STORY.  153 

"  But  I  can  never  be  your  enemy,"  he  protested,  softly, 
"^louise,  come  to  me!  You  are  mine.  We  are — " 

"We  are  different — not  the  same,"  she  said,  with  a  sort 
of  passion  in  her  tones.  "  You  are  of  the  white  blood  that 
laughs  at  my  people.  I  am  the  outlawed  blood  you  would 
grow  ashamed  of  some  day,  if  I  listened  to  you  long.  I 
know — I  have  seen  the  white  men  and  the  half-breed  chil- 
dren they  swear  at.  My  father  was  one  of  them." 

"Your  mother  was  not  so  cold,"  he  began,  but  she 
interrupted  him  with  a  short,  bitter  laugh. 

"You  do  well,"  she  said,  with  unconscious  irony — "well, 
my  master,  to  tell  me  of  that.  Listen!"  and  for  the  first 
time  she  raised  her  eyes  levelly  to  his.  "  Did  you  ever 
hear  what  La  Mestina  was  once  in  the  years  that  are  gone? 
She  was  princess.  In  council  she  was  the  one  woman;  the 
old  people  took  herbs  from  her  hands  as  charms;  the  young 
were  taught  to  do  reverence  to  her  name  as  they  do  now  to 
the  priests.  In  the  time  of  planting  and  the  harvest, 
in  the  time  of  the  fish  and  the  going  away  of  the  hunters, 
it  was  Mestina  who  laid  in  the  face  of  Manitou  the 
prayer  for  plenty.  She  was  called  wise  and  of  the  old  king 
tribe  that  is  never  named  in  this  day.  She  was  to  live  in 
holiness  and  to  be  sung  as  a  lesson  to  the  children  born 
in  the  years  when  we  are  dead.  That  was  La  Mestina,  the 
wise  woman.  But  one  squaw  had  ever  been  loved  so  in 
the  tribes  of  the  great  river,  and  that  other  was  Louise 
Ligonin,  whom  the  priests  call  sainted. 

"To-day,"  she  continued,  as  he  did  not  speak — only 
looked  at  her  in  amaze  at  the  swift  speech  and  graphic  pict- 
uring of  the  past — "  to-day  you  can  find  the  wise  woman — 
the  squaw  king — drunk  somewhere  among  the  streets  of  the 
white  people.  She  is  outlawed  by  her  tribe.  She  sees  not 
right  from  wrong.  She  offered  her  daughter  for  a  handful 
of  dollars  to  any  man  who  would  take  her.  And  all  that 


154  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

evil  and  sin  has  grown  in  her,  a  little  at  a  time,  just  because 
she  was  not  cold.  She  chose  to  be  wife  to  a  white  man— a 
good  wife,  so  the  hunters  have  said  to  me;  and  where  is  the 
white  man  who  remembers  the  squaw  wife  when  the  mount- 
ains and  the  villages  of  the  whites  are  between  them?  He 
was  like  the  others — he  never  came  back." 

"And  you  would  judge  me  by  such  a  man?"  he  asked, 
hurt  and  reproachful.  "Ah,  child,  you  do  not  understand. 
Trust  me." 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  closing  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  "  I  was 
little,  but  I  remember  when  I  saw  him  last,  and  the  words 
he  said;  it  was  of  going,  and  La  Mestina  was  bowed  like  a 
slave  before  him,  but  he  would  not  take  her.  He  said — he 
said  " — and  her  words  grew  slower,  as  if  striving  for  the 
half-forgotten  words — "  that  a  man  who  was  white  had 
better  be  dead  than  tied  to  one  of  the  red  race;  that  when 
he  goes  where  the  whites  live  he  grows  ashamed;  that  it 
made  no  difference  whether  the  squaw  was  good  or  bad, 
the  man  was  ashamed  anyway.  His  heart  grows  weak  in 
the  tents  of  his  friends.  His  courage  dies  in  shame,  and 
the  youth  in  his  spirit  grows  pale  as  old  age  in  sorrow. 
He  was  ashamed  of  his  life,  as  the  white  blood  made  him— 
makes  all  men.  Then  he  left  some  dollars,  and  told  her  not 
to  follow.  He  did  not  strike  her,  but  she  fell  as  if  he  had; 
and  La  Mestina  was  never  called  the  wise  squaw  again. 
He  was  evil — I  know — though  he  laughed  often.  But  he 
told  the  truth  of  his  heart  about  the  shame.  I  have  heard 
the  hunters  talk — I  know,  and  you  must  never  be  ashamed 
so  in  the  eyes  of  your  people.  No,  never  at  all.  Shame 
bites  deepest  in  the  bravest  hearts,  and  La  Mestina's 
daughter  would  be  a  shame  for  any  man's  tent." 

"It  is  not  the  Indian  blood  in  you  that  talks,"  he  pro- 
tested. "  Indian  women  do  not  think  as  you  are  thinking. 
You  are  more  white  than  red.  You  are  more  of  my  race 


HER  MOTHER'S  STORY.  155 

than  your  mother's.  Don't  your  own  heart  tell  you  that, 
child?" 

He  was  closer  to  her,  leaning,  tired,  on  the  stone  bench, 
his  face  pale  from  fatigue,  and  earnest  in  its  pleading.  She 
was  so  dear — so  much  to  be  desired!  Just  then  the  rest  of 
the  world  was  as  nothing  compared  with  his  wish  for  the 
proud  heart  of  the  little  squaw  who  trembled  at  every 
tender  word  of  his.  Would  she  never  reach  her  hands 
willingly  to  meet  his?  What  was  the  secret  of  her  strength? 
Even  in  the  midst  of  his  pleading  that  query  came  to  him. 
He  saw  her  lay  her  hand  on  the  eagle-claw  on  her  breast, 
but  the  beak  or  the  talons  pressed  against  her  flesh  told 
him  nothing,  and  he  knew  nothing,  of  the  vow  of  her  life, 
for  his  sake,  to  her  Indian  god. 

"  I  hear  your  words,"  she  said,  looking  away  from  him. 
"  Both  the  white  and  the  red  blood  of  my  heart  answers; 
but " — and  she  evaded  his  hand  and  reached  the  edge  of 
the  cliff — "below  there  is  a  quick  way  to  die — see!  Just 
one  fall  and  the  bones  would  break,  and  the  hands  of  ^louise 
could  work  for  you  never  again.  Listen — for  I  tell  you! 
When  the  day  comes  that  I  help  you  to  be  ashamed  of  the 
Indian  girl,  the  night  will  find  me  there  for  the  wolves  to 
eat.  I  have  said  it  to  Manitou — I  say  it!  " 

He  shivered  as  though  the  south  wind  had  really  swept 
to  him  across  her  dead  face.  In  that  moment,  at  the  thought 
of  losing  her,  he  loved  her. 

"  What  can  I  say  to  you?  "  he  whispered.  "  I  would  not 
want  you  different  from  what  you  are,  my  wild  eagle  of 
the  heights.  It  is  the  thought  of  others  seeing  you  and 
wanting  you  that  puts  me  crazy.  Your  life  shall  be  sacred 
to  me — believe  me.  If  I  should  lose  you — " 

She  smiled  as  one  wise  in  years  would  smile  at  the  cause- 
less dread  of  a  child.  The  very  spirit  of  motherhood,  that 
is  a  part  of  every  womanly  love,  shone  in  her  softened  eyes 
as  she  bent  toward  him. 


156  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"Come,"  she  said;  "too  many  words  have  been  spoken. 
The  day  dies  while  we  talk,  and  the  air  of  the  night  is  poison 
to  sick  bodies.  When  ^louise  is  faithless,  you  can  treat 
her  as  the  Indians  treat  their  faithless  squaws.  Come;  the 
way  is  long  for  your  feet,  and  your  face  looks  tired  already. 
To  rest  on  your  bed  of  pine  is  best.  Come!  " 

And  in  the  gloaming,  tender  with  promises  of  repose, 
they  walked  in  quiet  to  their  rock  dwelling.  The  cool 
shadows  were  moist  with  the  kiss  of  the  dew,  and  sweet 
silences  surrounded  them.  In  an  odd  way  he  felt  glad  that 
she  had  triumphed — that  she  was  still  the  untamed  creature 
who  had  fled  from  his  whispers;  and  though  she  walked 
beside  him,  he  felt  it  was  as  a  bird  that  perches  on  one's 
hand  only  so  long  as  the  fingers  make  no  attempt  to  im- 
prison it. 

There  is  a  wondrous  fascination  to  some  natures  in  snar- 
ing game  like  that;  not  an  ethereal  phase  of  love,  perhaps, 
but  nevertheless  a  true  one,  and  it  left  its  impress  on  the 
two  lives  under  the  cliff  for  all  the  days  that  followed. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HER   SONGS. 


AFTER  that  one  passionate  outbreak  in  the  gloaming,  no 
word  was  uttered  of  the  thought  that  filled  'each  heart. 
They  worked  together  in  the  days  as  he  grew  stronger,  and 
he  learned,  from  sheer  ennui,  to  cut  the  fringe  of  cariboo- 
skin  as  it  was  wanted  for  hunting-shirts,  or  select  the  colors 
of  beads  with  which  to  make  moccasins  and  collars  gay.  In 


HER   SONGS.  157 

their  speech  they  were  more  like  boyish  companions  than 
ever  before;  and  her  visits  were  few  and  very  short  to  the 
settlement  at  High-Low.  Luxuries  for  the  sick  man  were 
not  needed  so  often,  and  she  would  sell  nothing  to  Antoine 
that  she  could  trade  through  Redney's  hands — Redney,  who 
was  drifting  so  far  from  her  of  late,  and  whose  impatience 
at  her  life  in  the  forest  increased  with  every  visit  he  made 
down  the  river,  where  civilization  was  supposed  to  exist. 

But  he  bought  the  cariboo-skin  for  her  work,  and  carried 
to  Farwell  the  beaded  garments  she  made,  and  seemed  to 
have  little  time  for  questions  or  answers  when  he  did  come, 
only  that  he  was  more  prosperous;  he  would  help  her  with 
money  if  she  chose. 

But  Dunbar  objected. 

"  It  is  hard  enough  for  me  to  know  you  see  and  talk  to 
men,"  he  said,  jealously,  "without  knowing  that  you  take 
money  from  them;  and  then,"  he  added,  more  lightly,  "on 
this  plantation  it  is  the  '  sultana  who  goes  to  Ispahan,'  and 
the  poor  sultan,  left  in  his  cave,  has  nothing  to  do  but 
think  angry,  jealous  things  until  she  comes  back,  and  never 
a  dancing-girl  to  help  the  time  pass." 

And  then  he  had  to  repeat  for  her  the  poem,  as  he  had 
many  another,  in  the  summer  evenings;  but  her  eyes 
darkened  at  the  unfaithfulness  in  this  one. 

"  Men  may  laugh  at  it  in  the  song,  and  it  sounds  pretty," 
she  said,  "but  if  the  woman  was  an  Indian  wife  they  would 
tie  her  hands  and  her  feet  to  unbroken  colts  and  rend  her 
to  pieces.  That  is  better  than  making  songs  about  her,  or 
making  her  pay  a  few  dollars  to  the  white  men's  chief 
(judge),  like  I  hear  of.  I  hear  that  in  the  white  men's 
country  their  dollars  can  pay  for  all  things." 

But  he  did  not  care  to  discuss  white  men's  laws  and 
their  many-sided  exits  in  the  face  of  her  primitive  and 
decided  ideas  of  justice. 


158  SQUAW  £  LOUISE. 

"I  wonder  your  people  have  so  few  songs,  when  they 
have  so  much  to  make  songs  about,"  he  remarked.  "  Your 
race  should  have  a  poet." 

"Our  words  are  not  singing  words,"  she  answered;  "  not 
now.  May  be  once  it  was  all  different;  may  be  they  made 
songs,  and  laughed,  and  wept.  But  they  have  nearly  all 
forgotten.  Their  hearts  have  been  touched  with  pains,  and 
the  old  nations  are  dead.  They  will  sing  laughing  songs 
never  any  more." 

"But  you  sing,"  he  persisted.  "I  have  heard  you  of 
late,  in  the  morning,  sometimes,  when  you  thought  me  still 
sleeping;  and  some  of  the  songs  seemed  pretty,  though  the 
words  were  not  plain  to  me,  and  the  airs  are  a  little  too 
sad.  Where  did  you  learn?  " 

"Where  do  the  birds  learn?"  she  answered.  "The 
Indian  learns  as  they  learn,  unless  it  is  the  Indian  of  the 
church  who  sings  for  the  priest.  Ah!  it  is  pretty  when 
they  sing  like  that.  Henri  did  sing  greatest  of  all,  so  they 
said.  I  loved  singing  when  I  listened  to  his  words." 

"  Come  here,"  he  said,  surlily,  but  with  laughing  eyes. 
She  did  not  obey,  but  did  cease  her  work  and  look  up  in 
wonder. 

"  Do  you  know  I  am  jealous  of  that  priest  you  used  to 
sing  with  and  like  so  well?  Do  you  know  what  he  will  do? 
He  will  find  you  again  some  day  and  take  you  away  from 
me." 

"  Not  from  you,  no,"  she  contradicted.  "  But  if  it  is 
because  he  sings  well,  why  do  not  you  too?  May  be  you 
sing  better  still;  then  you  can  be  jealous  no  more.  So 
try." 

When  she  entered  into  the  spirit  of  a  jest  he  found  her 
adorable;  the  only  thing  that  bored  him  was  her  serious- 
ness that  was  so  seldom  lightened.  But  she  almost  laughed 
as  she  looked  at  him  and  bantered  him  to  sing. 


HER   SONGS.  159 

"What  song,  then — what  kind  of  a  song?"  he  asked;  and 
she  smiled  again. 

"  The  kind  of  a  song  comes  from  the  kind  of  a  mind  the 
singer  has.  That  is  how  it  is  with  the  Indian,  if  the 
Indian  is  a  true  singer.  I  hear  no  true  singers  among  the 
whites." 

"  A  true  singer!     Now  what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  If  you  do  not  know,  there  is  no 
other  name  to  tell  you  by.  A  true  singer,  that  is  all.  He 
that  is  one  makes  music  of  the  thoughts  in  his  heart.  If 
they  are  glad,  then  he  sings  proudly;  and  if  they  are  of 
sorrow,  he  has  no  laughing  music  to  sing;  and  the  same 
song  is  not  sung  twice  by  the  true  singer.  Long  ago,  it  is 
said  that  when  the  dead  came  back  they  spoke  often 
through  the  words  of  the  true  singers  and  told  of  things  to 
be,  but  that  is  no  more.  May  be  it  is  because  the  Indian  is 
not  so  good  as  he  was,  and  the  good  dead  keep  far  away, 
like  the  angels  of  the  white  man,  who  did  walk  on  the 
ground  once,  but  who  hide  in  the  white  clouds  now. 
May  be,  I  do  not  know;  but  the  dead  speak  but  little  now, 
though  the  true  singers  themselves  are  of  them,  for  few  live." 

"Then  your  people  have  poets?"  he  said,  after  listening 
to  her  soft,  slow  history  of  the  true  singers,  of  whom  he  had 
never  before  heard.  "  Poets?  Yes,  that  is  what  we  call 
the  song-makers,  and  the  prophets  who  give  us  new  thoughts 
and  tell  them  in  music.  And  your  people  have  the  same, 
but  no  books  to  keep  their  words  in." 

"  No,  only  the  rocks  of  Arrow  Lake,  and  the  marks  were 
made  on  them  before  the  white  men  ever  looked  on  our 
lands.  The  old  people  say  there  are  more  of  the  pictured 
rocks  toward  the  big  sea,  but  their  meaning  is  lost — for- 
gotten, like  the  words  of  the  true  singers." 

"Surely,  all  their  words  are  not  forgotten.  Have  you 
no  memory  of  a  lullaby  or  a  war-song  you  can  tell  me  of?" 


160  SQUAW 

"  I?  No.  I  did  remember  some  Henri  sung — yes,  for  a 
long  time;  but  they  are  gone,  and  he  sings  only  the  church 
thoughts  now — no  eagle-songs,  no  song  for  the  sun  that 
rises." 

"Always  Henri!  Have  you  no  memory  of  the  past  but 
of  him?" 

"  No  good  ones,  and  none  of  songs,  for  our  singing  was 
always  together,  when  I  was  yet  little.  The  days  were 
good  then,  and  the  old  people  would  look  glad  and  listen 
when  our  songs  were  said.  Yes,  the  days  were  good  days. 
All  the  world  was  happy  then,  so  I  thought." 

"You  must  sing  for  me  as  you  sung  for  him,"  he  said, 
pleadingly.  "  And  why  should  you  not?  I  care  for  you 
most.  No  church  would  be  strong  enough  to  take  me 
from  you." 

"  May  be,"  she  answered,  musingly.  "  The  church  might 
not  be  strong  in  your  heart — it  is  not  with  the  white  men; 
but  other  things  are  strong — the  thoughts  of  their  kindred 
and  the  world  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains." 

"  But  if  I  should  never  go  back  there — if  the  charm  of 
these  peaks  grows  too  great — then  what?" 

"Oh-h!"  she  breathed,  with  a  great  flush  of  gladness 
creeping  over  her  face.  "  If  that  should  be,  the  songs  could 
be  sung  again  on  this  hill  of  the  hunted,  for  they  would 
sing  in  my  heart." 

"  You  are  so  glad — you  would  hide  me  always  here?  Sing 
me  a  song,  then,  if  you  want  me  to  believe  that." 

"You believe — you  know,"  she  said,  simply;  "  but  I  will 
sing  if  the  words  will  come." 

The  stars,  like  picket-fires  along  the  line  of  night,  were 
one  by  one  flashing  signals  of  serenity  to  each  other,  and 
all  the  earth  seemed  lying  there  below  in  a  misty  cloak  of 
repose  that  shone  dusk  and  blue  in  the  faint  light.  It  was 
the  hour  of  all  others  in  which  they  were  apt  to  talk  at 


HER   SONGS.  161 

ease;  the  hour  when  the  light  grew  too  dim  for  work,  and 
dreams  crowd  close  in  the  silence. 

She  leaned  forward,  looking  across  the  measureless  dis- 
tances, a  faint  little  smile  about  her  lips.  After  a  little  he 
saw  her  rest  her  chin  on  her  hands,  and  saw  her  head  nod 
as  if  keeping  time  to  a  low  murmur  of  sound  that  came 
from  her  lips.  As  it  grew  louder  she  glanced  around  at 
him  in  a  half-pleased  way,  as  if  at  her  own  success,  and  then 
the  murmur  grew  into  a  chant,  never  loud,  the  very  whis- 
per of  a  song,  but  sunp-  to  a  wild,  strange  rhythm  of  sound, 
unlike  any  he  had  ever  heard.  As  near  as  the  translation 
can  give  it  in  English,  her  words  were: 

"  High  on  the  brow  of  the  mountain, 
Up  where  the  sun  loves  to  linger, 
There  hide  I  the  best  of  my  treasures; 
There  guard  I,  and  all  the  dead  help  me! 
They  speak  through  the  leaves  in  the  sunshine, 
They  look  from  the  stars  in  the  night-time, 
They  talk  low  and  tell  me  of  gladness, 
They  cry  loud  and  tell  me  of  sorrow; 
Yet  I  am  their  child,  and  they  hold  me—- 
The eagle,  the  last  of  their  king  blood. 
The  heart  that  I  love  they  will  strengthen—- 
Believe it,  for  all  the  dead  whisper  ! 
Believe  it  and  rest,  oh,  my  stranger  ! 
Sleep  sweet  in  the  nest  of  the  eagle, 
Sleep  soft  as  a  babe  — " 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  and,  after  a  little,  faltering 
attempt  to  laugh,  bent  her  head  in  her  hands,  and,  despite 
his  words  of  praise,  or  encouragement,  shook  her  head. 

" ^llouise  is  not  of  the  true  singers,"  she  insisted;  "she 
can  not  sing  far,  and  the  clouds  drop  over  the  trail  of  her 
thoughts;  she  is  lost  in  the  song,  as  the  strange  hunter  is 
lost  in  the  snow-fields.  She  can  not  see  far,  as  the  true 
singers  see." 

"  That  is  because  you  choose  music  so  sad,  though  the 
11 


162  SQUAW  £  LOUISE. 

words  are  sweet.  Sing  something  bright,  gay,  like  the 
French  hunters  sing  as  they  pass  along  the  rivers.  Have 
you  never  heard  their  boat-songs?  There  is  the  quick 
swing  as  of  a  dance  in  their  music.  You  understand? 
Have  you  no  such  songs  of  the  boats  in  your  store? " 

"The  boat,  the  boat?"  she  said,  and  covered  her  eyes; 
"  yes,  the  boat  that  springs  over  the  lakes  as  the  deer 
through  the  woodland.  They  carry  light  hearts,  the  boats. 
I  have  seen  the  gold-hunters  go  laughing  down  the  rapids 
in  them,  glad  to  go  back  to  the  work:  You  will  go,  laugh- 
ing, some  day,  may  be." 

"  If  I  do,  you  will  laugh  with  me,"  he  said,  and  smiled  at 
the  thought.  "  Sing  for  me  again,  and  tell  me  of  the  boat 
that  will  carry  us." 

She  looked  at  him  strangely  in  the  half-light. 

"  Is  the  tree  yet  grown  for  the  boat  that  will  carry  us? " 
she  asked;  and  then,  as  if  answering  her  own  words,  she 
sung,  in  the  same  low,  sweet  semitones,  with  the  beat  of  the 
oars  through  the  rhythm: 

"  The  boat  is  built, 

And  the  water  sings 
To  you.     Dear  heart,  good-by! 
It  will  bear  you  far, 

On  its  tireless  wings, 
From  me.     Good-by!  good-by!" 

He  reached  over  and  touched  her  hand. 

"Do  not  sing  any  more,"  he  said,  moved  in  a  strange 
way  by  her  words  ;  "  that  '  good-by '  is  like  a  knife  in  the 
neart  when  you  say  it  like  that." 

She  shuddered  at  the  mention  of  the  knife;  the  ghost  of 
a  blade  that  flashed  in  the  lamp-light  seemed  ever  at  her 
side. 

"  Mine  will  be  the  heart,  then,  that  the  knife  touches," 
she  said,  and  arose.  "  But  I  will  sing  no  more.  The  night 


HER   SONGS.  165 

is  a  night  so  much  of  beauty  that  it  makes  the  heart  acher 
and  sad  thoughts  come  because  all  life  can  not  be  like  it — 
of  quiet  and  peace,  like  a  child  that  sleeps  innocent  under 
the  eyes  of  its  mother.  That  is  how  the  mountains  look 
to-night,  under  the  sky  and  the  stars ;  but  to-morrow 
storms  may  come,  the  sleep  of  peace  will  not  last;  and  the 
ways  of  the  earth  are  the  ways  of  our  spirits,  and  the  tears 
will  come  to  the  eyes  because  of  the  days  when  the  beauty 
and  innocence  will  not  be." 

He  caught  her  dress,  and  laid  his  head  on  her  moccasined 
feet  as  she  passed  where  he  lay. 

"  Never  say  that  you  are  of  Indian  thought  or  blood,"  he 
commanded,  tenderly.  "  What  you  are  I  don't  know,  for 
you  seem  so  many  things.  No  Indian  is  like  you.  You 
make  me  wish  I  had  known  no  school  but  that  of  the 
mountains,  and  had  never  a  memory  beyond  them.  If  I 
had  not,  this  life  and  you  near  me  would  be  like  heaven. 
You  are  nobler  than  anything  I  have  known.  Your  good- 
ness has  made  me  ashamed  many  times.  I  think  it  will  do- 
me good  to  confess  it  like  this  at  your  feet,  my  little  Indian 
priestess  and  poet.  Only  the  memory  of  the  world  creeps 
back  sometimes,  like  the  serpent  that  crept  between  the 
first  lovers,  and  I  grow  unreasonable  and  sad.  Have  you 
no  songs  that  will  drive  away  the  devil  when  he  comes  to 
men? " 

"  I  believed  there  was  a  devil  when  I  was  very  little," 
she  answered;  "  not  now.  I  think  now  the  devil  is  only 
the  evil  in  men's  spirits.  They  can  drive  it  away  them- 
selves if  they  want  to.  Many  never  try." 

But  she  must  have  tried  after  that,  for  he  heard  gayer 
songs  from  her  for  many  days — songs  of  the  chase,  and 
quaint  conceits  of  the  spirits  that  guard  the  different  game 
of  the  hills  and  hold  it  in  reserve  for  the  true  hunter  when  he 
comes.  Other  songs  of  the  stars  above,  and  the  blossoms 


164  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

that  open  their  lips  only  when  certain  of  the  twinkling 
eyes  shine  brightly  on  the  earth;  songs  of  the  birds,  and 
the  messages  they  bear  north  and  south  in  the  different 
seasons. 

He  had  lived  among  the  frontier  people  for  many,  many 
moons,  and  sat  at  the  camp-fire  of  Indian  hunters,  but  in 
all  their  tales  and  legends  had  learned  nothing  of  the  spir- 
itual or  sentimental  side  of  their  nature  that  suggested  the 
wealth  of  discernment  that  he  found  expressed  in  the 
chants  or  untrammeled  songs  uttered  by  the  girl  who 
seemed  to  him  a  fit  poet  for  the  writing  of  her  people's 
history. 

What  was  there  she  did  not  seem  to  him  in  these  days? 
— a  boyish  hunter  in  the  early  morning,  snaring  the  fish  or 
the  small  game  for  their  larder,  or  kneeling  like  any  other 
little  squaw  to  bake  her  bread  in  the  ashes,  or  bend  her 
dark  head  over  the  fashioning  of  garments  from  the  skin 
of  the  cariboo.  He  could  talk  to  her  then  freely  and  easily. 
She  was  as  a  little  slave;  he  was  the  one  master  she 
served. 

But  when  the  night  fell,  the  darkness  drew  her,  some  way, 
above  the  squaw  who  cooked  his  food.  He  grew  to  have 
fascinating,  superstitious  fancies  about  her  in  the  night- 
time. She  was  as  a  voice  that  spoke  of  strange  things  from 
the  darkness;  weird,  impossible  things,  that  yet  seemed 
natural  enough  to  hear  up  there  on  the  heights  sacred  of 
old  to  the  outcasts  of  her  race. 

Was  she  enough  of  an  Indian  witch  to  know  that  she 
was  winning  a  higher  place  in  his  thoughts  than  before? 
Anyway,  her  songs  grew  gladder,  and  held  little  notes  of 
joy  unshadowed  in  them.  Some  of  them  he  caught  and 
wrote  down  in  a  little  pocket-book  he  carried,  and  days 
after  surprised  her  by  repeating  her  thoughts  set  to  music. 
Ah,  those  happy  days! — too  happy. 


HER   SONGS.  165- 

One  night  she  came  home  with  softened,  tender  eyes  and 
sung  an  odd  lullaby  with  a  caressing  rhythm  through  it, 
and  laughed  when  he  asked  her  what  bird  had  taught  it  to 
her. 

"No  bird;  but  I  did  a  strange  thing  at  dusk  when  I  left 
the  store.  Some  men  were  along  the  broad  path,  and  I 
came  by  the  cabin  of  the  new  family.  I  saw  through  the 
door  the  woman  with  the  little  one.  It  laughed  as  she 
sung  a  song  that  was  so  sweet.  The  mother  and  the  child 
were  like  a  song  themselves — a  happy  song  that  makes  the 
heart  warm.  Another  woman  was  there,  but  she  sat  in  the 
shadow,  and  her  face  was  not  seen.  The  child  and  the 
gladness  in  the  mother's  eyes  came  with  me  in  my  thoughts 
up  the  mountain.  I  wanted  to  touch  the  little  one  once 
and  feel  the  softness  of  its  hands,  but  I  came  away  quickly, 
so  that  none  would  see  or  follow." 

And  though  he  laughed  at  her,  she  would  talk  of  the 
child  many  times,  and  in  her  songs  grew  the  tender  notes 
of  mother-birds,  for  the  little  home  picture  of  the  man  and 
woman  and  their  love  gift  was  a  revelation  to  her  of  a  new 
life. 

"You  will  miss  the  broad  path  again  and  pass  the  cabin," 
he  said,  as  she  left  for  the  trading-post  next  time;  but  she 
only  smiled,  and  left  him,  loath  to  go,  yet  eager  to  cover  the 
distance  that  her  return  might  be  quick. 

He  watched  her  so  long  as  a  glimpse  of  her  could  be 
caught  as  she  descended  the  mountain.  The  hours  were 
so  long  to  him  alone  there.  Her  presence  was  all  that 
made  life  supportable  to  him  in  that  place.  But  even  their 
brief  partings  were  worth  enduring  for  the  sake  of  the 
gladness  in  her  eyes  as  she  came  back. 

She  was  long  coming  back  that  evening.  Time  and 
again  did  he  go  down  the  hidden  way,  thinking  to  please 
her  by  going  to  meet  her;  but  each  time,  after  troubled 


166  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

waiting,  he  returned,  thinking  she  had  come  back  on  some 
other  trail. 

And  when  he  did  see  her  it  was  in  surprise,  for  she 
appeared  so  little  like  the  bright  young  creature  who  had 
looked  at  him  with  fond,  shy  eyes  in  the  morning.  She 
seemed  tired  and  her  feet  lagged  heavily,  and  she  avoided 
meeting  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  am  late,"  she  agreed,  wearily.  "Sick?  No,  only 
I  thought  of  other  things  than  the  trail,  and  I  walked  far, 
very  far,  in  the  wrong  way;  that  is  all." 

"Was  it  the  baby  in  the  white  man's  house  that  you 
thought  of,"  he  asked,  teasingly.  "  Did  you  see  it  again, 
and  was  that  what  made  you  forget  to  come  back  to  me? " 

"I  did  not  forget,  but  I  did  see  the  child;  and  I  am 
tired,  very  tired." 

But  tired  as  she  was  she  did  not  sleep,  and  when  morning 
came  she  was  still  silent  and  thoughtful. 

"What  is  in  your  mind?"  he  asked  many  times.  "Has 
anyone  followed  you?  Is  it  trouble  about  your  work? " 

"  No,  the  work  is  plenty.  I  got  new  work  at  the  post, 
for  the  white  lady  down  there — all  a  beaded  suit;  and  she 
will  pay  much  for  it." 

"  So  you  have  talked  with  her.  I  thought  you  kept  away 
from  women." 

"  Yes;  but  they  left  messages  with  Antoine.  I  knew  the 
money  would  be  good  to  have,  so  I  went  where  they  live- 
I  will  not  go  again.  White  women  ask  many  questions." 

He  laughed.  "  Some  of  them  do,  but  you  must  not  be 
troubled  because  of  them." 

She  cut  out  the  little  moccasins  and  the  little  gloves  for 
the  suit  that  was  to  bring  much  money. 

"  She  must  be  a  very  little  woman,"  he  remarked,  "  and 
with  hands  and  feet  even  smaller  than  your  own." 

She  made  no  answer  then,  but  after  a  little  she  said: 


HER   SONGS.  167 

"  Do  the  white  women  where  you  live  all  look  white  and 
soft  like  babies,  and  do  they  all  dress  so  clean  and  fine? 
Where  they  cooked  in  that  house  looked  fine  as  the  altar 
in  the  chapel." 

"  Oh,  no;  there  are  dirty  whites  as  there  are  dirty  Indians. 
But  has  that  house  made  you  sorry  you  live  with  me  in  a 
cave? " 

"  With  you?  Listen,  I  have  wanted  to  ask  you.  I  have 
thought  much  of  the  white  women's  ways.  Does  that  one, 
the  whitest  of  all,  whose  face  is  on  your  breast — does  she 
live  fine  like  that  in  some  far-off  place  where  many  people 
are? " 

"  Does  she  live  so  well  as  a  miner's  wife  in  the  Selkirks? 
Why,  my  child,  she  is  a  little  girl  who  owns  nearly  all  of 
the  '  Little  Dell,'  and  in  the  States  has  more  acres  and  cat- 
tle than  you  could  count;  the  floors  where  she  walks  have 
coverings  of  velvet,  and  she  has  nothing  to  do  but  be  happy 
all  her  life,  and  nothing  to  prevent  it.  There  is  nothing  in 
these  hills  so  fine  as  the  life  she  is  used  to.  She  is  a  flower 
such  as  grows  only  in  the  sunny,  sheltered  places." 

"Then  she  could  never  live  long  in  our  mountains," 
mused  the  girl,  "  for  even  the  snow-birds  die  in  our 
winters." 

"What  has  put  such  fancies  in  your  head? "  he  asked, 
irritably;  "the  white  woman  who  lives  at  the  trading- 
post?  Be  sure  you  will  see  no  woman  who  can  ever  give 
you  an  idea  of  how  lovely  she  was — little  Delia!  But  talk 
of  something  else  to-day.  I  want  to  forget." 

"  Is  it  so  hard  to  do  so?  Then  what  if  somewhere  in  the 
world  you  cross  her  path  again,  and  if  she  looks  at  you  as 
she  looks  in  the  picture — laughing?  " 

"^louise!  "  he  cried,  in  sharp  protest,  "you  don't  know 
what  you  are  saying.  Be  still;  never  speak  of  her  or  of 
that  other  life  again.  I  am  outside  of  it  all  now,  and  my 


168  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

heart  grows  homesick  when  you  remind  me.  Let  me  be 
content  here — if  I  can." 

She  nodded  her  head,  and  in  silence  marked  on  the  toe 
of  the  moccasin  the  form  of  a  heart  that  was  to  be  beaded 
in  scarlet. 

"  And  I  would  rather  you  could  avoid  the  white  women 
when  you  go  down  there,"  he  persisted.  "  They  send  you 
home  to  me  like  a  dark,  disturbed  shadow  of  yourself.  Since 
you  declare  that  you  are  so  entirely  Indian,  I'll  just  tell  you 
that  the  less  an  Indian  knows  of  the  white  people's  ways 
the  better  the  Indian  is.  I  don't  know  why  it  is  so,  when 
the  white  race  is  supposed  to  be  superior,  but  results  con- 
firm it.  Do  you  understand?  I  like  you  best  as  you  are. 
Don't  try  to  be  like  the  white  women.  Don't  sit  in  their 
houses  and  let  them  talk  to  you." 

"  Never  any  more,"  she  agreed,  listlessly. 

All  her  former  interest  in  the  glories  of  Ewing's  cabin 
had  departed.  He  wondered,  as  he  looked  at  her,  if  it  was 
through  envy  that  she  came  back  gloomy  from  the  houses 
of  the  whites.  Was  she,  after  all,  woman  enough  to  long 
for  the  purple  and  fine  linen  of  life?  He  wondered  yet 
more  when,  after  a  long  silence,  she  said  in  the  evening: 

"  Would  you  let  me  once  more  see  the  face  you  carry  for 
a  charm? " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  if  you  in  return  will  tell  me  why 
you  wear  on  your  breast  the  feathers  sacred  to  the  braves. 
Is  that  for  a  charm  too?  " 

But  she  would  not  tell  him,  only  stood  stolidly,  as  if  not 
hearing,  until  he  loosened  the  chain  and  «.id  the  locket  in 
her  hand,  smiling  at  her  childish  wn  n,  for  he  had  no 
doubt  she  thought  of  the  little  oval  frame  as  of  a  pretty 
toy. 

But  it  was  the  face  she  looked  at  a  long,  long  time,  study- 
ing its  fair  lines,  until,  with  a  quick  sigh,  she  raised  her 


HER   SONGS.  169 

hand  to  her  hair — straight,  black,  unlovely  hair  when  com- 
pared with  the  fair  halo  of  gold  about  the  pictured  face; 
and  then  her  eyes  fell  critically  on  her  own  hard  hands  and 
her  own  weather  and  work  stained  garb,  at  the  moccasin 
that  was  torn,  and  at  the  leggings  that  were  ripped  and 
stripped  of  the  gay  fringe  that  once  adorned  them.  For 
filouise,  the  maker  of  gay  garments  for  others,  had  little 
time  to  spend  in  decking  her  own  beauty  of  form,  even  if 
she  had  been  conscious  of  its  possession,  which  she  was  not. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  think,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  The 
face  looks  weak  and  pretty,  like  a  face  of  a  child;  but  I 
think  that  she  is  stronger  than  women  who  have  strength.  I 
mean  she  could  get  with  a  look  of  her  eyes  what  stronger 
women  would  beg  for;  and  people  will  love  her  in  their 
hearts,  though  she  never  did  good  to  anything." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement;  the  analysis  of  char- 
acter was  so  unlike  an  Indian,  though  he  felt  its  accuracy 
and  was  irritated  at  it.  The  girl  criticised  was  of  his 
order — a  gay,  charming  creature,  easily  comprehended  by 
him,  and  very  attractive  to  people  of  taste.  To  be  sure, 
there  was  nothing  subtle  or  deep  in  her  personality.  Who 
would  wish  a  girl  to  possess  such  attributes?  And  for  this 
boyish  huntress,  this  witchy  songstress — even  the  devoted 
nurse — to  speak  of  her  with  a  note  of  contempt  in  her  tones 
was  a  grievance.  He  felt  angry  that  the  things  he  and 
men  like  him  loved  were  deemed  trifling  by  the  half-savage 
critic,  who  dressed  in  rags,  and  often  made  a  dinner  of 
roots. 

"  She  was  but  a  child,"  he  said,  petulantly,  and  looked  at 
the  fair  pictured  face.  "  Why,  she  was  but  fifteen  years  old." 

She  laughed  shortly,  angrily,  and  turned  away. 

"A  child!  In  the  year  I  was  fifteen  I  swam  the  river 
where  it  measured  a  mile.  I  was  alone  on  the  trail  for 
three  days  in  the  mountains,  and  killed  a  deer  heavier  than 


170  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

a  man  could  carry.     A  child!     The  whites  think  wen  if 
their  boys  of  twenty  can  do  so  much." 

It  was  the  first  boastful  words  he  had  ever  heard  from 
her,  and  her  ill-concealed  anger  surprised  him. 

"  Why,  filouise!  "  he  began,  and  reached  out  his  hand 
with  a  conciliating  smile  and  gesture.  But  she  drew  back, 
with  tremulous  lips,  and  tears  in  her  stormy  eyes. 

"  Nah!  I  am  but  an  Indian;  keep  your  fair  words  for  fair 
faces.  The  ways  of  filouise  are  not  gentle  ways,  and  she 
is  best  alone." 

And  then  she  passed  quickly,  as  a  bird  that  flies  low  to 
cover,  and  he  sat  alone  in  the  silence,  thinking  that  she 
had  never  appeared  so  like  to  other  women  as  when  she 
had  turned  on  him  with  angry,  tear-wet  eyes.  And  the  cause 
of  it?  Was  she,  for  all  her  strange,  passionate  threats  and 
devotion,  only  a  petulant  child  at  heart? 

But  it  was  no  heart  of  a  child  from  which  a  wail  as  of 
prophecy  was  sent  out  from  that  nook  in  the  cliff  far  above. 
Creeping  close,  he  listened  to  the  words  sung  lowly,  and 
the  sadness  and  despair  of  them  brought  an  ache  to  his 
heart.  The  shadow  of  her  own  young  desolate  soul  seemed 
to  fall  over  him,  and  a  realization  of  pain  such  as  had  never 
touched  his  life.  He  did  not  speak  to  or  interrupt  her; 
he  did  not  even  see  her  face;  only  the  voice  floated 
weirdly  out  from  that  altar  of  stone  where  he  felt  she  was 
kneeling — the  voice  with  the  sound  of  tears  in  it: 
"  Alone!  lone  am  I. 

The  winds  cry  my  call; 
The  heart  sno\vs  are  nigh 
When  love's  bright  leaves  fall. 
And  they  fall, 
And  they  fall 
On  the  grave  of  my  dead, 
On  the  grave 
Of  a  life 
That  is  dead;  that  is  deadl" 


A    PRIEST    OF    THE    WILDS.  171 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    PRIEST    OF   THE   WILDS. 

IF  there  is  any  one  time  more  than  another  when  an 
Indian  village  appears  a  place  loathsome  to  a  mind  of  refine- 
ment, that  time  surely  is  in  a  season  of  sickness,  when  the 
seed  of  contagious  disease  is  scattered  among  their  ill- 
prepared  tribes. 

Year  after  year  the  quaking  demon  of  the  ague  haunts 
their  marsh-lands,  and  leaves  the  families  of  fishers  power- 
less to  contend  with  the  deadly  fevers  that  creep  up  on  the 
hot  winds  of  the  south.  The  cholera,  small-pox,  and  other 
devastating  ills  sweep  annually  across  scattered  tribes, 
leaving  only  remnants  of  families  to  be  attacked  with 
renewed  force  in  the  season  to  follow. 

In  such  a  village,  one  which  the  mightiest  of  hunters  and 
the  strongest  of  their  braves  would  avoid,  there  dwelt 
through  the  days  and  weeks  of  that  summer  the  man  of 
whom  Neil  Dunbar  had  heard  so  much  in  that  haven  of  the 
unnamed  nation. 

The  "  red  death,"  so  called  because  of  the  fatality  of  it 
among  those  of  Indian  blood,  had  raged  with  cholera-like 
fatality  from  the  time  the  frost  left  the  marshes. 

"  If  I  only  had  you  across  there  in  my  own  hills,"  their 
priest  and  nurse  would  say  often,  and  point  to  the  lines  of 
blue  in  the  east  that  showed  where  the  mountains  were. 
"But  here!  it  weakens  the  strongest  to  live  on  these  levels 
where  the  soil  is  gray  and  white  in  the  sun,  and  where  the 
water  stands  green  in  the  pools." 

For  they  were  not  of  his  people  or  his  race,  these  creat- 


172  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

ures  whose  bodies  were  squat,  and  who  reminded  him  of 
fish,  for  they  could  neither  walk  nor  run  as  his  tall,  stalwart 
people  of  the  hills  could  do;  but  swim!  there  was  no  water- 
born  creature  that  could  live  more  at  home  in  the  rivers 
than  they.  The  "  fisher  people,"  they  were  called,  being 
a  mongrel  lot  whose  ancestors  had  been  wreckage  from  the 
Cathlamets,  the  Waak-i-cums,  and  the  Clatsops,  who,  too 
weak  to  hold  their  own  against  the  stronger  tribes  of  the 
fishing-grounds,  had  crept  northward  to  the  desolate 
stretches  of  glade-land  where  they  dragged  their  nets  and 
their  lives  sluggishly  through  the  seasons,  and  made  ham- 
pers of  reeds  to  trade  to  the  hunters  and  fishers  who  packed 
dried  meats  for  use  in  winter.  No  herds  were  owned  by 
them.  A  plurality  of  wives  was  all  that  distinguished  the 
man  of  wealth  from  the  pauper  among  them,  and  the 
man  who  possessed  the  greatest  number  was  chief  of  the 
lodges,  by  common  consent.  Surely  a  field  for  a  mission- 
ary; but  in  the  actual  care  of  the  people,  young  and  old, 
in  their  sickness,  there  were  left  but  few  moments  for  the 
religious  teaching  that  is  the  work  of  priests. 

Their  filth,  their  degradation,  and  miseries  might  have 
made  many  a  mind  wonder  if,  after  all,  it  was  not  a  mistake 
to  try  to  prolong  lives  like  theirs;  swinish  souls,  with  no 
sort  of  comprehension  of  the  devotion  to  a  supposed  duty 
which  sent  the  tall  priest  of  the  huntsmen  down  from  the 
mountains,  into  the  very  resting-place  of  horrid  death. 

But  he  baptized  them;  he  closed  their  eyes  with  the  ben- 
ediction of  the  faith  for  which  he  lived;  not  a  touch  or 
speech  from  him  to  show  that  his  duty  could  be  a  repulsive 
thing  when  it  came  to  the  acceptance  of  such  creatures  by 
the  shepherd  of  souls. 

And  if  at  times  he  escaped  into  the  sleepless  stillness  of  the 
night,  and  envied  the  stars  that  seemed  gemming  the  brow 
of  his  distant  mountains,  he  did  penance  by  added  devotion 


A    PRIEST    OF    THE    WILDS.  173 

to  his  charges  until  the  gray  dawn  crept  over  the  sullen 
lands. 

Few  of  the  older  people  were  left  alive,  and  the  rest  were 
like  frightened  children,  needing  a  commander.  An  at- 
tempt had  even  been  made  by  some  of  the  terror-stricken 
to  burn  the  lodges  with  the  dead  and  the  fatally  sick,  offer- 
ing up  this  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  spirit  they  believe  exists  in 
flame — an  evil  power  that  they  do  homage  to  through  fear, 
and  one  entirely  antagonistic  to  that  which  they  suppose 
answers  the  plea  of  their  medicine  men  for  many  fish. 

More  than  once,  in  closing  the  eyes  of  some  young  dead 
thing,  he  felt  a  throb  of  thankfulness  that  the  other  child, 
the  one  of  the  mountains  and  the  eagle's  eyrie,  whom  he 
had  cared  for  in  her  babyhood,  was  free  somewhere  on 
those  blue  heights.  Her  life,  unfit  as  it  was  for  a  girl, 
seemed  so  immeasurably  above  that  which  these  creatures 
lived  and  died  in.  Even  if  she  died  somewhere  up  there, 
no  death  on  the  hills  could  come  in  so  horrible  a  garb  as 
the  pestilence  in  these  fetid  swamps. 

Once  he  heard  of  La  Mestina.  She  had  been  seen  by  a 
hunter  who  was  going  north  to  Lake  Quesnelle.  She  was 
up  in  the  Big  Bend  region,  and  she  was  alone.  The  man 
had  an  idea  that  the  little  squaw,  her  daughter,  had  run  away 
from  her;  had  heard  something  to  that  effect,  but  did  not 
remember  well. 

Run  away!  The  thoughts  of  the  priest  went  back  to  the 
other  time  she  had  done  so — poor  passionate,  brave  little 
^llouise! 

"  If  she  has  fled  from  Mestina,  then  she  is  gone  also  from 
the  places  of  the  white  people;  she  will  live  in  the  hills," 
he  thought,  and  tried  to  be  satisfied.  He  feared  less  the 
wildness  of  the  forests  for  the  child  than  he  did  the  haunts 
of  men.  Yet  the  bodies  of  the  disease-stricken  amphibians 
were  forgotten  ever  and  anon  in  his  anxiety  for  the  life  and 


174  SQUAW    ^LOUISE. 

the  soul  of  the  young  creature  for  whom  he  felt  in  many 
ways  responsible. 

Only  through  him  had  she  knelt  at  the  altar  of  his  God, 
or  bent  her  wild  will  by  his  persuasion  toward  the  faith 
from  which  her  mother  had  turned.  Her  first  communion, 
her  confessions — all  her  stumbling  steps  toward  the  ac- 
quirement of  divine  grace — his  voice,  his  hand,  had  led  her 
to.  She  belonged  to  him  as  to  no  other,  if  only  by  the  grant 
of  the  old  people  that  day  long  ago  when  he  had  borne  her 
from  death  in  the  nest  of  the  eagle. 

In  the  months  of  late  he  had  been  making  plans  for  her 
— for  the  child  that  was  growing  to  womanhood  and  whom 
he  longed  to  see  among  those  devoted  women  of  the  East- 
ern convents.  It  was  all  he  could  think  of  for  her.  She 
was  unlike  either  the  white  people  he  knew  or  the  Indians 
they  had  known  together;  only  in  the  bosom  of  the  church 
could  a  sure  refuge  be  found  for  such  a  stray. 

Yet  the  days  went  by,  and  the  people  died,  and  others 
sickened,  and  he  seemed  tied  endlessly  to  their  level  lands; 
and  never  a  traveler  passed  by  whom  he  could  send  a  mes- 
sage to  the  mountains. 

He  envied  every  bird  that  flew  to  the  east,  and  only  the 
patience  of  the  Indian  blood  in  him  made  it  possible  for 
him  to  murmur  prayers  and  await  their  fulfillment. 

And  one  evening  at  dusk  he  arose  from  his  work  of  lay- 
ing a  child's  body  in  the  earth,  and  turned  to  his  one 
assistant — a  boy,  yet  strong,  whom  either  shame  or  devo- 
tion kept  close  to  the  "black  gown." 

"Have  you  ever  been  so  far  as  the  hills  that  rise?"  and 
he  pointed  to  the  faint  blue  waves  that  touched  the  pearly 
sky;  but  the  boy  shook  his  head;  the  mountains  were  as 
another  world  to  him. 

"  No  hunter  you  know  in  all  this  marsh-land  who  would 
carry  word  there  that  I  can  not  take  myself  ?  " 


A    PRIEST    OF    THE    WILDS.  175 

"  If  I  could  go  on  the  water,"  began  the  youth,  doubt- 
fully; but  the  priest  shook  his  head.  In  his  own  country  a 
dozen  messengers  would  have  answered  to  his  need,  with 
never  a  question  as  to  distance  or  danger. 

"  There  is  one  there,"  said  the  boy,  pointing  northward, 
"  whose  mother  you  buried  the  day  before  this.  He  moves 
over  much  ground.  If  you  could  watch  alone  to-night,  I 
will  find  him — may  be." 

And  Father  Henri  watched  alone,  many  times  praying 
for  a  soul  on  the  mountains  while  a  soul  was  flitting  from  a 
senseless  body  within  reach  of  his  hand  in  that  marsh-land 
swamp.  All  at  once  a  great  sense  of  fear  had  touched  him 
for  her.  If  it?had  not  been  for  the  helpless  creatures  about 
him  who  had  no  other  hope! 

Severely  did  he  take  himself  to  task  for  the  impulse  to 
desert  these  people,  who,  even  to  a  priest,  a  disdainer  of 
the  perishable  body,  seemed  hopeless.  Only  the  grace  of 
God  and  the  charity  of  the  saints  could  ever  leaven  that 
mass  of  humanity  into  conscious,  enlightened  personalities. 

They  caused  him  to  think  with  a  great  gratitude  of  his 
people  of  the  hills,  of  the  hardy  hunters,  and  the  women, 
chaste  and  modest,  among  whom  he  had  grown;  and  among 
them  all  his  thoughts  would  wander  so  strangely  to  the  one 
child  who  was  somewhere  on  those  heights  needing  a 
friend,  and,  he  feared,  possessing  none  but  him — her  brother 
Henri,  her  father  confessor. 

"She  is  no  worse  off  than  many  another  girl  of  our 
people,"  he  told  himself;  "  why,  then,  should  the  face  of  this 
one  come  so  suddenly  and  strangely  between  my  eyes  and 
the  dying  faces  about  me?  It  is  as  a  temptation  of  the 
devil  to  draw  my  thoughts  from  holy  offices.  Asperge  me 
Domine"  and  he  repeated  a  Latin  prayer  fervently,  think- 
ing between  the  sentences,  "But  ISlouise  can  be  no 
emissary  of  evil  powers;  the  child  was  good  always." 


176  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

Something  strong  had  taken  hold  of  his  heart — a  troub- 
lous something  as  vague  as  unformed  prophecy.  It  was 
confusing  his  thoughts  and  lifting  him  above  the  swamp- 
lands of  the  "red  death;"  and  every  rustle  of  wind  in  the 
grass  seemed  like  a  voice  calling  him  to  the  mountains. 

And  in  the  dusk  of  that  day  the  child  he  thought  of  sung 
as  the  "  true  singers  "  sing — the  cry  of  a  loneliness  to  come. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IN    THE   HOME    OF    THE    WHITE   WOMEN. 

HIGH-LOW  had  been  properly  shocked  at  the  spectacle 
of  a  favorite  comrade  cut  at  by  the  little  squaw,  and 
properly  interested  in  the  disappearance  of  the  former; 
but  as  the  boom  of  prosperity  drifted  up  the  river  with  the 
warm  season  those  incidents,  together  with  other  notable 
ones,  had  been  left  to  find  their  own  place  in  the  pages  of 
High-Low  history.  Dunbar  was  of  the  past,  a  past  when 
the  post  was  in  doubtful  uncertainty  as  to  any  future. 
That  was  over.  A  future  was  assured,  and  a  golden 
present  almost  within  reach. 

The  mine  men  affirmed  that  good  luck  had  been  brought 
to  the  hills  by  Miss  Delia;  others  said  it  was  by  the  baby; 
anyway  it  had  arrived,  and,  in  the  commotion  that  ensued, 
the  mystery  of  the  man's  loss  seemed  forgotten — by  the 
majority. 

Of  course  Miss  Delia  herself  did  not  belong  to  the 
majority,  for  never  a  ride  or  walk  did  she  take  without  the 
thought  of  the  handsome  fellow  who  was  lost  to  her;  and 


IN    THE    HOME    OF    THE    WHITE    WOMEN.  177 

in  all  the  ranks  of  those  who  flocked  into  the  little  valley 
she  could  see  no  one  equal  to  him — him,  the  prince  charm- 
ing of  her  childhood.  Though,  to  confess  the  truth,  her 
regret,  while  sincere,  did  not  prevent  her  from  coquetting 
with  many  men  of  many  minds  in  most  things,  but  unani- 
mous in  their  opinion  of  Miss  Delia's  perfection. 

Not  that  she  was  heartless;  she  was  no  more  so  than  the 
average  girl  who  likes  attention,  and  there  was  not  a  man 
in  the  hills  from  whom  she  would  not  have  turned  loyally 
at  sight  of  the  missing  one.  But  he  did  not  come  and  the 
others  did,  and  she  was  only  a  girl,  after  all. 

But  to  be  only  a  girl,  and  not  a  very  big  girl,  either,  she 
had  grown  to  be  a  power  in  the  settlement,  a  sort  of  auto- 
crat of  the  valley,  her  only  rival  being  the  all-pervading 
spirit  of  Mr.  Clevents,  who  had  suddenly  adopted  High- 
Low,  boom  and  all,  and  managed  to  have  a  substantial 
interest  in  every  substantial  scheme  afloat  within  its  limits. 

"  Tell  you  what  it  is,  Mrs.  Nannie,"  said  the  girl,  apropos 
of  nothing,  "if  I  ever  conclude  to  trade  Uncle  off  for 
another  business  partner,  I'll  propose  to  that  handsome 
ranger,  for  that  is  what  he  seems  to  me — a  ranger  into  all 
professions  and  enterprises." 

"  And  what  would  you  do  with  the  other  ninety  and  nine 
aspirants  for  the  same  position — whistle  them  down  the 
wind?" 

"Oh,  no;  sing  them  a  song  and  ask  them  to  supper. 
That  would  appease  all  of  them  I  am  acquainted  with." 

"  Perhaps;"  and  then,  after  a  little  silence,  "  Do  you 
notice  how  baby  seems  to  miss  Redney?  When  any  of  the 
other  men  come  in  he  looks  so  eager,  and  then  so  disap- 
pointed. I  told  Milt  yesterday  I  believed  his  chum  was  an 
Indian  wizard." 

"  And  what  did  he  say? "  asked  the  girl,  who  was 
smoothing  out  her  rebellious  crown  of  tresses, 

12 


178  SQUAW    £  LOUISE. 

"Well,  really,  I  don't  believe  he  said  anything,"  returned 
Nannie.  "  But  he  would  never  doubt  very  strongly  any 
attributes  that  boy  laid  claim  to.  Those  two  have  a 
religious  sort  of  faith  in  each  other;  and  I  know  Redney's 
affection  for  Milt  is  all  that  kept  his  royal  sulkiness  here 
after  our  arrival." 

"  How  modest  you  are!  Why  do  you  not  say  my  arrival?  " 
laughed  the  other.  "  Don't  you  remember  how  slow  he  was 
to  accept  me  as  a  citizen? " 

"A  frame  of  mind  he  must  have  recovered  from,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Nannie,  with  significant  dryness,  "  since  that  whip  and 
spur  look  like  proof  of  an  open  bribery  to  retain  you." 

The  girl's  eyes  turned  to  the  glittering  bits  of  a  riding 
outfit,  and  smiled,  though  her  cheeks  did  flush  a  little  at  the 
words. 

"  Well,  if  you  had  heard  the  ungracious  way  in  which  he 
presented  them,  you  might  form  another  opinion,"  she  said, 
carelessly.  "  He  said  that  since  I  did  go  riding  around  with 
tenderfeet,  I  might  as  well  go  '  right,'  and  have  something 
to  manage  my  mule  with;  and  that  little  silver  spur  is  really 
lovely.  Who  would  have  thought  of  his  buying  such  a 
thing;  and  I  wonder  how  much  it  cost." 

"  Rather  an  unusual  thought  for  you,  isn't  it?  I'm  afraid 
you  count  the  cost  of  things  too  seldom." 

"For  myself,  perhaps,"  she  agreed;  "but  it  is  of  the 
boy  I  am  thinking  now,  and  of  the  hole  these  trinkets  must 
have  made  in  his  earnings;  for  I  don't  suppose  even  the 
superintendent  of  a  portage  gang  receives  a  princely  salary 
in  this  region." 

"  And  while  you  are  thinking  about  him  at  all,  why  not 
count  the  cost  of  treating  the  poor  half-breed  as  though  he 
were  some  dethroned  prince? "  suggested  the  little  matron, 
warningly. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Ewing— " 


IN    THE    HOME   OF    THE   WHITE    WOMEN.  17& 

"Now,  now,  don't  get  indignant!  It  is  very  lovely  of 
you,  and  all  that;  shows  the  right  Christian  spirit,  I  suppose; 
only  I've  an  idea  that  the  natives  here  would  have  to  get 
used  to  the  Christian  spirit  by  degrees.  Too  much  of  it  at 
a  time  is  likely  to  turn  the  heads  of  the  best  of  them." 

"I  thought  Mr.  Redney's  head  pretty  level,"  returned 
the  girl,  carelessly;  "  and  he  is  decidedly  the  best  and  most 
interesting  specimen  I've  seen,  barring  the  little  moccasin- 
maker.  I  know  she  would  be  interesting  if  only  she  could 
be  made  to  talk;  and  her  voice  is  so  musical!  I  hardly 
knew  whether  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  me  or  was  afraid 
of  me,  but  her  speechless  gaze  was  something  awful  to  face, 
though  she  is  so  pretty!  " 

"Oh,  her  wonder  was  at  the  splendor  of  the  new  riding- 
dress,  the  glitter  of  the  spur  and  whip.  No  doubt  they  ar$ 
the  first  of  their  kind  in  this  region,"  hazarded  Mrs.  Ewing, 
rather  averse  to  the  discussion  of  the  girl's  new  specimen. 
"  She  is,  I  suppose,  simply  an  ignorant  little  imbecile,  with 
brains  enough  to  follow  a  pattern  in  beads  on  deer- skin,  but. 
with  not  a  spark  of  the  intelligence  you  fancied  shone  in 
her  eyes.  The  ragged,  staring  creature  said  nothing 
because  she  thought  nothing,  I  suppose." 

"Well,  she  is  pretty,  anyway,"  insisted  the  girl;  "and  do 
you  know  I  believe  Mr.  Clevents  must  have  thought  so  too, 
for  after  she  left  I  watched  her — she  is  so  wonderfully 
graceful  for  a  squaw — and,  looking  across  the  ravine,  I 
saw  that  gentleman  watching  her  too,  and  not  with  the 
naked  eye,  either.  I  saw  him,  with  that  field-glass  in  his 
hand,  climb  up  where  that  bald  knob  is — you  know  you  can 
see  so  many  peaks  from  there;  and  for  three  full  hours  he 
never  came  down,  and  the  glass  was  turned  always  toward 
the  mountain  Mr.  Redney  told  us  the  legends  of." 

"  The  mountain  of  your  tipsy  apparition? " 

"  Never  mind.     I'm  going  up  there  again  some  day  when 


180  SQUAW    ^LOUISE. 

Redney  can  go  along.  You  know  I  have  not  such  a  great 
while  left  for  excursions;  this  summer  is  going." 

And  a  shortly  drawn  breath,  like  a  smothered  sigh,  fol- 
lowed her  words,  to  tell  that  the  loss  the  summer  had 
brought  was  never  forgotten,  even  for  the  later  attractions 
of  "specimens." 

"And  is  it  not  nearly  time  for  your  uncle's  return?'' 
asked  Mrs.  Ewing.  "  Oh,  how  I  shall  miss  you!  " 

"  Never  mind.  We  will  have  the  distinction  of  being 
remembered  in  the  history  of  High-Low  as  the  first  '  fam- 
ily '  women  within  its  limits,  and  that  alone  is  worth  a  pil- 
grimage up  the  Columbia;  "  and  then  she  consulted  a  letter, 
over  which  she  wrinkled  her  pretty  brows. 

"Someone  has  been  telling  that  uncle  of  mine  fairy 
stories  about  the  terrible  midsummer  floods  up  here,"  she 
observed,  "and  he  is  afraid  a  land-slide,  or  something 
equally  terrible,  will  overtake  us  if  we  should  linger  through 
August.  It  seems  ridiculous  to  fear  snows  in  the  mountains 
more  in  midsummer  than  all  the  rest  of  the  year 
combined." 

"  Well,  I  confess  I  can't  see  the  ridiculous  side  of  the 
question  so  much  as  the  fearful,"  acknowledged  the  other- 
"  The  stories  I  have  heard  here  of  floods  from  the  snow 
in  the  summer  are  not  reassuring  to  pioneers.  Think  of 
that  Indian  village  that  was  buried  on  the  other  range  last 
summer!  " 

"  Oh,  think  of  something  more  pleasant,"  suggested  the 
girl — "  of  how  surely  your  fortune  is  to  be  made  in  this 
Selkirk  country,  and  how  charming  it  will  seem  to  have  you 
to  come  and  see  in  the  summers  that  are  to  be.  I  shall  feel 
like  a  native  when  I  come  through  the  Arrow  lakes  next 
time.  You  need  not  be  surprised  if  I  even  discard  civil- 
ized raiment  at  the  railroad  terminus,  and  make  my  canoe- 
trip  in  beads  and  deer-skin.  Really,  I  am  longing  to  see 


IN    THE    HOME    OF    THE    WHITE    WOMEN.  181 

that  Indian  dress.  How  soon  was  it  to  be  done?  I  forget 
what  she  said  about  that." 

"  I  don't  think  she  said,"  returned  Mrs.  Ewing.  "  I 
inferred  that  her  acceptance  of  the  commission  was  a  favor 
you  must  be  duly  grateful  for,  and  that  time  was  not  to  be 
considered  in  the  productions  of  such  an  artist  as  your 
ragged  prot6g6." 

"  You  are  too  nice  a  woman  to  be  sarcastic,"  commented 
the  girl;  "  and  I've  an  idea  that  her  ragged  highness  is  too 
independent  to  be  the  protege  of  anyone,  though,  if  she 
were  not — why,  you've  awakened  a  bit  of  inspiration  in 
me — if  she  were  not,  what  a  delightful  novelty  it  would 
be  to  take  so  pretty  an  Indian  back  home  with  me!  Nannie 
Ewing,  if  lucre  or  wooing  words  can  entice  her,  she  is 
mine." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Milt  Ewing,  thrusting  his  head  in 
at  the  window;  "  especially  if  the  words  are  yours.  But 
what  diabolical  plot  is  it  I  have  overheard  but  a  part  of?  " 

"  Oh,  she  is  possessed  with  the  idea  of  taking  back  with 
her  some  live-stock  in  the  shape  of  Indians.  She  wants  to 
begin  with  a  young  squaw  who  makes  moccasins  and  such 
things." 

"A  squaw!  Mr.  Ewing,  that  title  gives  you  no  idea  of 
the  character  I  mean.  She  is  a  rarity,  I  know,  and  as  pretty 
as  her  name — filouise,  or  Alouise.  May  be  you  know  her. 
Redney  told  me  her  mother  was  a  real  princess  in  their 
tribe." 

Ewing  nodded. 

"The  most  appalling  female  I  ever  met,  even  on  the 
frontier,"  he  observed.  The  girl  is  a  degree  or  so  better, 
I  believe,  but  hardly  the  sort  you  would  want  as  a  com- 
panion." 

"  I'm  sure  Redney  knows  her,"  began  the  girl;  and  Red- 
ney's  partner  smiled. 


182  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

"  But  that  boy  knows  everybody,  good  and  bad,  in  the 
country,"  he  returned,  "  so  that  argues  no  excellence;  and 
an  Indian  would  have  to  be  pretty  bad  if  he  wouldn't  treat 
her  friendly — on  account,  may  be,  of  that  Indian  mother 
that  he  never  knew.  But  if  you  really  want  a  hostile  cap- 
tive to  take  home,  you'd  better  go  to  one  of  the  mission- 
schools  and  get  a  good  '  church  '  red  that  can  say  its  cate- 
chism without  a  break." 

"But  it  isn't  any  Indian  I  want,"  she  persisted;  "it  is 
this  particular  one  that  is  so  pretty  and  so  odd." 

"  Well,  you  can't  have  her,"  he  said,  smiling  teasingly, 
"so  find  another  plaything — that's  a  good  child;  for  down 
^here  at  the  camp  a  swamp  red  arrived  an  hour  ago. 
Antoine  says  he  came  from  their  priest  to  get  word  of  the 
girl,  to  have  her  go  back  to  their  church,  I  suppose.  Any- 
way, he  is  a  messenger  from  the  priest,  and  is  searching  for 
your  charmer;  and  the  church  is  a  power  among  these 
Chinook  country  reds." 

"Well,  I'm  not  strikingly  irreligious,  but  in  this  case  I'm 
going  to  pit  myself  against  the  emissary  of  holiness.  Where 
is  that  herald  from  the  swamps?  and  where  is  the  girl  sup- 
posed to  live? " 

"  I  heard  Antoine  tell  him  that  no  one  knew,"  he  replied 
to  the  latter  question;  "  and  the  last  I  saw  of  Mr.  Strange 
Indian,  Clevents  had  tackled  him,  and  they  seemed  to  be 
trying  very  hard  to  understand  each  other.  He  does  speak 
the  most  outlandish  guttural  jargon  you  ever  heard.  If  he 
is  a  specimen  of  the  flat-land  tribes,  I  don't  think  you  will 
want  to  make  any  collections  or  adoptions  among  them." 

"  So  Mr.  Clevents  is  trying  to  cut  me  out,  is  he?  "  queried 
the  young  lady,  frowningly.  "  So  much  for  the  constancy 
of  man.  I  was  flattering  myself  that  I  filled  the  horizon  of 
his  thoughts,  and  behold,  he  has  hidden  interests — interest* 
in  squaws! " 


IN  THE  HOME  OF  THE  WHITE  WOMEN.       185' 

"  But  he  is  not  a  bad  sort  of  a  fellow,  for  all  that," 
returned  Ewing;  "and  one  thing  sure:  when  he  takes  a 
liking  to  anyone,  he  doesn't  change  his  mind  often.  See 
how  persistently  he  has  tried  to  help  Redney." 

"  Oh — Redney!  "  and  her  tone  was  an  odd  combination 
of  contempt  and  fondness.  "  Where  is  the  virtue  required 
for  liking  him?  I  think  it  would  be  a  rather  small  soul  that 
did  not  like  that  boy.  I  am  fond  of  him  myself." 

"  Your  fondness  is  too  frank  to  be  very  deep,  I  guess," 
remarked  Mrs.  Ewing;  but  the  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it;  I  am  neither  more  nor  less  than  I 
pretend;  and  I'm  sure  that  the  most  decided  liking  I  ever 
had  for  anyone— and  that  was  poor  Neil — was  plain  to  all 
observers,  and  I  frankly  did  my  half  of  the  courting.  But, 
of  course,  that  was  all  very  different  from  this  ranger-like, 
out-of-door  comradeship  with  the  mountaineers." 

"Of  course,"  agreed  Ewing,  curtly;  "but  some  of 
them  might  come  to  grief  through  not  being  bright  enough 
to  understand  the  difference,"  and  then  he  walked  away 
from  the  window,  leaving  the  principal  stockholder  of  the 
"  Little  Dell  "  mine  in  a  state  of  bewilderment. 

"  Now,  what  did  I  say? "  she  asked.  "  Nothing  to  vex 
anyone,  yet  surely  Mr.  Ewing  spoke  as  if  I  tried  his 
patience  in  some  way.  But  men  are  such  incomprehensible 
creatures  at  the  best." 

"  And  women  never  are? "  said  Mrs.  Ewing,  with  a  quiz- 
zical smile.  "But  don't  mind  Milt;  he's  been  out  of  sorts 
ever  since  Redney  was  up  last.  He  misses  him  at  his  work, 
too;  and  do  you  know,  Milt  is  just  superstitious  enough  to 
think  that  boy  a  sort  of  mascot,  and  the  prospects  for 
silver  much  less  because  his  luck  has  gone  down  the  river 
with  that  canoe  party.  And  Redney  himself  is  not  quite 
the  same;  the  river  life,  or  something,  has  changed  him." 

The  girl  did  not  reply,  but  her  glance  turned  after  a  little- 


184  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

to  the  little  whip  and  spur  hanging  there  as  a  mute 
reminder  of  how  entirely  the  sulky,  defiant  young  nomad 
was  changed  into  an  attendant  self-conscious  cavalier. 

She  had  been  one  of  the  darlings  of  the  gods  all  her  life, 
and  had  numberless  gifts,  costly  and  dainty,  extended  to 
her,  but  among  them  all  nothing  had  ever  appealed  to  her 
with  the  dumb  pathos  of  that  bit  of  riding-gear.  She 
remembered  little  economies  practiced  against  himself  in 
several  ways,  and  his  personal  outfit  for  the  river-work  that 
Milt  had  growled  over,  saying  it  was  all  insufficient  for  his 
needs.  Poor  boy!  And  all  the  time  it  must  have  been  that 
he  could  bring  her  back  something  worthy  her  acceptance. 

"  Of  course  the  idea  is  an  awfully  conceited  one  on  my 
part,"  she  told  herself  repeatedly;  "but  how  am  I  to  help 
it,  when  the  fancy  will  come  every  time  I  look  at  the  things 
and  remember  his  face?  Love?  Not  at  all,  Dell  Raeforth! 
Yet  I  could  scarcely  keep  the  tears  out  of  my  eyes  as  I 
thanked  him;  and  may  be,  after  all,  he  was  only  trying  to  be 
civil  with  a  stranger,  and  may  be,  after  all,  his  'thoughts 
were  with  that  pretty  squaw  for  whom  he  buys  beads — more 
than  for  you,  Mistress  Conceit." 

And  away  down  the  course  of  the  Columbia  a  dark-eyed 
boatman  gave  swift  strokes  with  the  paddle  that  was  hur- 
rying his  canoe  northward;  and  when  the  sky  flamed  golden 
toward  night,  he  would  say  in  his  heart,  "  It  ain't  so  pretty 
as  her  hair  in  the  sunshine;"  and  when  a  bird  triumphant 
would  send  a  shower  of  sweet  sounds  out  across  the  water, 
his  thoughts  would  revert  to  a  clear  ripple  of  laughter  that 
had  music  in  it. 

"  And  you've  got  considerable  to  learn  yet,"  was  his 
summing  up  of  the  comparison,  and  his  gratuitous  infor- 
mation to  the  feathered  songster. 


WARNINGS   OF    THE    HEIGHTS.  185 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WARNINGS  OF  THE  HEIGHTS. 

IN  the  time  of  the  harvest  moon,  strange  changes 
are  wrought  by  the  warm  nights  and  the  sun  that  beats 
persistently  on  the  white  peaks  of  those  northern  ranges. 
Floods  descend  beneath  cloudless  skies,  and  into  the  tiny 
pools  where  the  trout  slept  in  high  ravines  will  suddenly  be 
dashed  big  torrents,  and  great  timbers  be  borne  downward 
with  a  force  terrific. 

Sometimes  the  smallest  of  rills  will  search  unseen  for  a 
secret  underground  path  from  the  peaks  to  the  great  river, 
and  gurgle  its  triumph  to  buried  rocks  and  wealth  of  min- 
eral over  which  it  runs.  And  then,  as  its  strength  and  its 
pride  grow  more  confident,  a  great  thing  happens  to  it,  and 
the  hidden  bit  of  life  in  it,  like  an  unspoken  passion  that 
has  slept  long,  bursts  forth  and  shatters  the  frame  that  held 
it;  tosses  great  bowlders  like  egg-shells  down  the  gray  dis- 
tance, and  tears  great  reaches  of  timber  and  rock-land  from 
the  side  of  the  mountain,  starting  them  slowly,  slowly, 
but  with  every  added  step  of  their  way  gaining  a  momen- 
tum that  sends  sounds  as  of  rumbling  thunder  along  the 
range,  and  churning  through  fair  valleys  that  are  laid  bar- 
ren wastes  by  the  passionate  force  from  above — and  all 
because  of  a  tiny  secret  hidden  once  in  the  breast  of  the 
mountain. 

When  the  clouds  that  are  "  weather-breeders  "  are  seen 
gathering  about  the  peaks  in  the  summer-time,  the  Indians 
move  themselves  and  their  fishing-traps  along  the  ravines 
of  the  lower  hills.  The  waters  swell  everywhere  as  the 


186  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

snows  melt;  but  if  the  snows  should  melt  and  the  rains 
descend  at  the  same  time,  then  indeed  are  the  bravest  care- 
ful, for  the  death  by  it  has  nothing  of  glory  in  it.  No 
prayers  can  be  said  over  the  graves  never  found;  and  to  die 
with  the  taste  of  mud  in  one's  mouth  and  choke  in  the 
foaming  yellow  of  the  rivers! 

The  people  of  High-Low  felt  they  had  nothing  to  fear 
from  the  ravages  of  the  midsummer  snow-fiend,  as  the  hills 
nearest  them  were  not  capped  with  white  to  any  great 
extent.  To  be  sure,  the  splashing  of  Tumwata  Creek  told 
them  it  was  likely  to  grow  into  a  small  river  in  a  wet  sea- 
son; but  the  houses  had  never  been  built  very  close  to  it, 
and  then  the  highlands  were  close  and  foot-hold  easy. 

But  more  than  one  of  the  weather-wise  among  the  Sel- 
kirks  turned  dubious  glances  toward  peaks  that  were  wear- 
ing caps  of  ice  and  snow,  but  hidden  now  by  pale  clouds 
held  on  the  summits  as  if  by  enchantment — mists  that  all 
the  force  of  the  sun  could  not  drive  away. 

"But  it's  not  the  going  away,  it's  the  coming  back,  that 
is  a  thing  of  interest  to  the  community,"  Ewing  explained 
to  the  ladies,  who  wondered  that  a  filmy  little  cloud  should 
be  noted  and  commented  on  by  people  who  had  witnessed 
terrific  storms  of  the  highlands.  "  The  mists  gather  and 
gather  like  that,  and  then  come  down  in  rains  that  set 
glaciers  swimming  down  the  valleys." 

"Those  lazy,  innocent-looking  little  clouds?" 

"Yes,"  and  Mr.  Clevents,  hearing  her,  smiled  blandly 
on  the  speaker;  "it  is  not  alone  the  gigantic  things  that 
create  havoc  in  the  mountains.  I've  seen  a  very  small 
nugget  set  a  whole  camp  wild." 

"  Indeed!  Was  it  a  bronze  nugget  of  the  kind  your  flat- 
land  friend  was  seeking  yesterday?  And,  by  the  way,  did 
he  find  her?" 

Clevents  glanced  at  her  sharply.     Was  she  as  innocent  of 


A    BLACK   ROBE.  187 

the  squaw's  late  history  as  the  Ewings  supposed?  He  had 
his  doubts  sometimes  when  she  persisted  in  questions  of 
that  dusky-eyed  straying  one. 

"No,  he  did  not;  and  he  has  gone  back  to  his  Indian 
priest." 

"  That  is  one  of  the  novel  things  I  have  yet  to  see  up 
here,"  she  said — "  an  Indian  priest.  Does  he  say  mass  in 
Chinook?  or  blend  the  fierceness  of  a  scalp-dance  with  his 
invocations  to  the  saints? " 

"  He  is  as  dignified  as  an  Arab,  and  as  domineering  as  the 
mischief  with  the  poor  reds  v/ho  happen  to  be  faulty,"  said 
Ewing. 

"And  I  hear  he  can  whip  any  of  his  converts,  in  pairs  or 
by  the  half-dozen,"  added  the  other  man.  "  He  would  be 
their  mighty  warrior  if  he  did  not  happen  to  be  their 
priest." 

"Are  all  their  clergy  heroes?"  asked  the  girl.  "Don't 
you  remember  Chief  Simon  telling  us  of  the  brave  trapper 
priest  who  was  his  nephew,  and  how  proud  he  was  of 
him? " 

"This  is  the  same  man,"  returned  Ewing;  "  and  I  guess 
he's  proud  of  himself." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A    BLACK    ROBE. 

AND  as  the  light  of  the  hot  day  died  out  over  the  flat- 
lands,  and  the  vapors  of  the  hot  night  arose  from  the 
brackish  pools,  the  proud  one  bent  under  the  weight  of  a 


188  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

dead  woman,  and  began  the  task  of  burial  that  came  as 
regularly  as  the  darkness. 

The  youth  who  helped  was  tired  of  the  dead  faces  and 
the  prayers — the  prayers  that  might  be  a  great  medicine, 
but  the  people  died,  just  as  they  died  before  the  black  robes 
were  seen  among  them.  His  eyes  and  thoughts  wandered 
from  the  new  grave  to  the  lands  south  where  the  water 
was.  Down  there  the  people  who  fished  moved  in  boats, 
and  moved  swiftly,  and  his  wish  was  for  the  life  they  lived; 
but  here  for  a  day's  journey  in  any  direction  there  was 
nothing  but — 

"Papa — na/if"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  breaking  in  on 
the  prayer  for  the  dead;  and  the  father  looked  as  he  was 
told,  for  the  hand  of  the  boy  was  pointed  eastward  at  a 
thing  that  rose  and  fell  on  the  far  levels — a  black  body 
against  the  dusk  sky. 

And  then,  with  a  sign  of  the  cross  marked  on  the  air,  the 
priest  again  bent  his  bared  head  in  the  service  for  the 
dead;  but  if  words  were  uttered,  none  were  heard  by  the 
boy,  who,  rebuked  by  the  cross,  knelt  at  the  foot  of  the 
grave,  and  wondered  that  the  other  showed  so  little  interest 
in  the  coming  ot  the  messenger  he  had  tried  so  hard  to 
secure. 

"  Is  it  always  the  dead  bod  ies, then, that  the  black  robesc  are 
most  for?  "  he  thought,  stealing  glances  at  the  intense  face 
of  the  other,  that  never  raised,  though  minute  after  minute 
went  by  and  the  darkness  grew.  And  at  last,  when  the  sound 
of  feet  came  to  them  until  they  halted  close  beside  where 
they  stood,  it  was  the  new-comer  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  Tyee "  (chief ),  he  said,  questioningly;  and  the  priest, 
with  again  that  sign  of  the  cross,  turned  to  him. 

"You  found  her? — you  bring  me  word?"  he  asked,  with 
a  little  pause  between  the  questions,  while  he  scanned  the 
man's  face  for  hope. 


A    BLACK    ROBE.  189 

"No;  the  squaw  ^louise  is  not  where  the  white  people 
are.  None  can  follow  her  trail — so  they  tell  me.  I  would 
have  tried,  but  you  said,  '  In  four  suns  be  here  again,'  so 
I  am  come." 

"  Is  that  all  they  say — the  people?  " 

"  One  man  said  more.  He  is  a  chief,  I  think.  He  asked 
me  many  things  of  you,  and  then  he  gave  me  this  to 
bring." 

It  was  a  leaf  from  a  note-book,  but  the  darkness  had 
grown  too  deep  for  reading  its  contents. 

"  You  are  tired  from  a  fast  trail,"  Father  Henri  said,  qui- 
etly; "go  into  my  tent  and  rest.  The  best  I  have  of  food 
is  yours;  you  have  served  me  well." 

"You  served  my  people  first,"  said  the  messenger,  sim- 
ply, and  followed  where  a  bit  of  fire  glimmered  under  a 
kettle.  In  it  fish  were  stewing,  and  the  light  outlined  two 
forms  that  lay  within  the  opening  of  a  tepee.  One  face 
looked  strangely  still. 

Father  Henri  knelt  to  read  the  lines  written  in  pencil, 
and  then  arose,  standing  in  the  shadow,  with  his  face  turned 
toward  the  grave  he  had  just  left;  and  away  beyond  the 
grave  loomed  the  peaks  of  the  Gold  Range. 

The  messenger  had  dropped  a  stout,  light  walking-stick, 
and  it  lay  near  the  -feet  of  the  priest,  who  stooped  and 
picked  it  up,  and  then  reread  the  note,  that  said: 

"  I  am  the  man  who  won  the  girl  you  look  for  at  a  game 
of  cards.  I  count  on  you  being  a  square  man  when  I  tell 
you  she  is  living  alone  with  some  man  on  a  mountain  near 
here.  If  you  have  any  good  influence  over  her,  come  and 
use  it.  I'll  back  you  with  several  ounces  of  dust,  and  help 
do  whatever  you  want  for  her.  Ask  for 

"CLE  VENTS." 

That  was  all.  Brief  enough,  but  the  sense  of  it  seemed 
to  creep  so  slowly  through  his  brain.  Won  at  a  game  of 


190  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

cards!  his  little  filouise,  his  unspoiled  young  eagle  of  the 
heights.  Living  alone  with  some  man!  she,  the  untamed 
one,  snared  by  some  treachery,  held  through  hated  force, 
and  never  a  one  to  aid  her.  Had  she  been  calling  for  him 
through  those  summer  nights  when  he  had  seemed  to  hear 
her  voice  on  every  breeze  that  blew? 

The  messenger,  kneeling  to  build  up  the  fire  under  the 
kettle,  heard  something  like  a  moan  from  the  priest  above 
him,  but  looking  up  saw  only  the  dark,  impassive  face, 
with  lips  close-set;  and  the  youth,  who  emptied  more  water 
into  the  boiling  mess,  answered  the  stranger's  look  of 
inquiry  by  saying,  lowly: 

"  It  is  for  the  people  in  the  graves  that  he  makes  cries, 
and  acts  like  a  medicine  man  that  works  cures.  There  are 
nights  when  he  kneels  till  the  stars  all  cross  the  sky,  and 
I  would  be  sure  he  weeps  but  that  he  is  too  brave.  Come 
away;  he  talks  to  the  charmed  beads." 

But  the  priest,  raising  the  rosary  and  the  crucifix  near 
his  lips,  uttered  no  audible  word  to  them,  only  it  seemed 
that  he  kissed  them. 

"  Look  to  the  sick  there — and  the  dead,"  he  said  to  the 
boy;  and  then,  with  the  stick  yet  in  his  hand,  he  turned 
back  into  the  darkness,  toward  the  grave  they  had  just 
left. 

"  He  will  fast  there  till  the  sun  comes,"  said  the  youth, 
discontentedly,  thinking  of  the  very  few  in  the  tepees  who 
were  able  to  wait  on  themselves;  "  he  thinks  more  of  the 
spirits  of  the  dead  than  of  any  living  thing." 

But  when  the  sun  came  up,  the  black  gown  of  Father 
Henri  was  out  of  range  of  the  eyes  of  the  flat-lands;  and, 
while  the  dead  of  the  marshes  were  half-forgotten,  a  living 
soul  imperiled  was  drawing  him  like  a  magnet  to  the  hills. 

The  white  dawn  was  creeping  through  mists  of  the  east 
•when  he  reached  the  shores-of  the  Columbia.  In  the  time 


A    BLACK    ROBE.  191 

of  one  night  he  had  covered  the  ground  of  a  two  days' 
march,  and  a  glance  at  the  waters  told  him  of  thaws  on  the 
heights.  Straight  above  him  he  knew  the  white  of  the 
snows  was  hidden  by  the  green  giants  of  the  primeval 
wood,  and  she  was  perhaps  hidden  somewhere  in  the  course 
of  relentless  glaciers. 

He  pushed  on  through  the  wild  growth  as  animals  push 
who  hear  the  hunters  on  their  trail,  and  have  never  a 
moment  of  time  to  turn  aside  for  obstacles.  Even  the 
natives  of  the  forest  seemed  to  understand  that  his  haste 
made  him  no  foe  to  be  feared,  for  small  eyes  peered  at  him 
from  the  security  of  the  undergrowth.  A  deer  and  fawn, 
couched  in  the  herbage,  darted  upward  along  the  stream, 
and  then  turned  to  gaze  at  him  with  soft,  sad  eyes,  while  a 
bear  plunged  into  the  river  and  swam  across,  making  a 
deliberate  halt  on  the  far  shore,  and  sauntered  fearlessly 
along  the  sands  before  disappearing  in  the  forest  opposite. 

But  ere  the  fog  lifted,  other  sounds  than  the  stealthy  steps 
of  animals  fell  on  his  ear — the  sounds  of  voices — the  voices 
of  many;  some  were  on  land,  some  on  the  water,  and  all 
discussing  the  sudden  rise  of  the  wind  and  water,  and  the 
dangerous  swiftness  over  rocks  now  submerged. 

They  called  to  him,  asking  of  the  country  above — any 
damage  yet  done  to  the  camps  by  the  snow  torrents,  and 
what  signs  for  rain  on  the  mountains. 

"  It  has  come  already,"  he  said,  briefly.  "  Miles  north  it 
has  been  on  the  hills.  The  mist  is  Here  now;  the  rain  will 
follow." 

"  Oh,  I  say!  "  called  out  a  voice  from  the  water,  "  tell  us 
something  better  than  that.  Give  us  time  to  reach  High-Low 
before  the  clouds  fall;  we  never  can  make  it  up-stream  in 
canoes  if  the  water  rises." 

The  speaker  was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  a  good-looking 
fellow,  with  crisp  curls  of  gray  forming  a  rather  striking 


192  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

contrast  to  the  bronze  of  his  face;  for,  though  app«.t.*ntly 
not  a  Selkirk  man,  he  was  not  a  tenderfoot,  his  outfit 
looking  like  that  of  a  well-to-do  prospector  who  had  trav- 
eled many  trails,  and  a  dauntless  air  of  good-humor  seemed 
his  distinguishing  feature. 

"  Oh,  you're  a  reverend,  are  you? "  he  continued,  with  a 
more  scrutinizing  glance  at  the  solitary  form  that  had  ap- 
peared on  the  shore;  "  then  I'm  left  again.  I've  been  pad- 
dling my  own  canoe,  but  I  don't  know  the  riffles  above,  and 
hoped  you  were  a  native  river-man.  The  boss  of  this  freight 
gang  might  spare  me  a  man,  but  he's  the  surliest  white  chap 
I  ever  saw." 

The  boss,  who  was  hurriedly  helping  break  camp,  and  who 
had  good  ears,  straightened  up  at  the  words. 

"But  I  don't  happen  to  be  a  white  chap,"  he  returned; 
"  and  as  you  froze  to  this  outfit  on  your  own  invite,  I  don't 
allow  to  be  accountable  for  you.  You  can  swim  up,  for  all 
me." 

It  was  Redney,  and  he  recognized  the  priest. 

"  But  I'll  find  boat-room  for  you  any  day,"  he  continued, 
and  came  closer.  "  You  don't  know  me,  but  I  reckon  you 
can't  be  anyone  but  Father  Henri,  the  Indian  priest. 
Louise  told  me  of  you." 

"  filouise — you  know  her — you  know  of  her  now? " 

"  Not  much,"  and  his  face  flushed  for  the  truth  in  the 
statement — he  had  meant  at  first  to  know  such  a  great  deal; 
"  but  she's  alive  and — and  well,  I  guess.  She's  in  High-Low 
mostly  when  I  get  there.  If  you've  any  word  to  send — 

"I  take  my  own  word;  and  I  will  guide  the  boat  of  the 
stranger  over  the  rocks,  since  he  has  no  help,  but  only  if  he 
goes  at  once." 

Redney  turned  away  in  a  sulky  sort  of  unconcern.  His 
disapproval  of  the  independent  stranger  was  plain. 

"Well,  I  tell  you,  now,  I'm  grateful  for  this,"  began  the 


A    BLACK    ROBE.  193 

stranger  with  much  heartiness;  but  the  priest  only  pushed 
the  garpoint  from  shore  and  picked  up  the  paddle. 

"You  owe  me  no  thanks,"  he  said;  "the  rest  of  the  trail 
to  camp  is  shorter  by  boat  than  on  foot,  or  I  would  not 
be  boatman  for  you  this  morning." 

The  rest  of  the  boats  were  soon  left  beyond  sight  or 
sound;  all  were  heavier  laden  than  that  of  the  stranger,  and 
so  it  was  that  it,  as  courier  of  the  fleet,  met  first  the  whirl 
of  water  that  came  down  in  great  waves  bearing  the  debris 
of  the  higher  shores,  along  which  the  river  leaped  in  so  short 
a  space  that  the  canoe  could  scarcely  be  dragged  quickly 
enough  beyond  its  boundary. 

Bits  of  cut  timber  and  sticks  with  the  mark  of  the  ax 
on  them  mingled  with  wood  torn  by  the  roots  from  the 
shore.  The  priest  noted  them,  and  threw  the  rope  of  the 
canoe  to  its  owner. 

"  Lash  it  to  the  tree  where  it  rests  until  you  carry  its 
load  up  above,  if  you  wish  to  save  it,  and  then  if  you  fol- 
low straight  the  way  I  go  you  will  reach  the  camp  in  the 
half  of  an  hour." 

"  But,  see  here!  Hello!  Curse  the  luck!  can't  you  lend 
a  hand?  Some  things  in  this  canoe  are  too  valuable  for 
me  to  lose." 

"  And  some  human  things  across  that  hill  may  be  lost 
while  we  wait,"  answered  the  native,  and  turned  into  the 
forest  toward  the  north,  where  a  call,  strong,  though 
silent,  seemed  vibrating  until  it  reached  his  heart. 


13 


194  SQUAW  £LOUISE. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   GENTLEMAN    FROM   WASHINGTON. 

THE  wind  was  whistling  down  from  the  mountains  with 
a  chill  on  its  wings.  The  smaller  timber  was  bending  low 
under  its  force,  and  the  heavier  growths  creaked  omi- 
nously. Clouds  low  and  black  were  driven  past  him,  and  he 
knew  he  was  on  the  outer  edge  of  a  tornado  that  higher  up 
the  mountains  was  leaving  many  a  barren  waste  where 
giants  of  the  wood  had  stood  for  ages.  Dashes  of  rain 
touched  him  at  times,  but  there  was  no  steady  fall.  At 
times  it  seemed  as  if  the  showers  had  been  dipped  by  the 
wind  from  the  river,  and  above  and  beyond  him  the  mount- 
ains were  roaring. 

From  the  bluff  above  High-Low  he  saw  the  settlement 
half  under  water,  great  trees  turning  and  tossing  where 
the  road  had  been;  and  a  few  men  on  improvised  rafts 
were  on  exploring  expeditions  among  the  jam. 

The  people  were  so  terror-stricken  that  few  noticed  the 
advent  of  a  stranger.  Some  people  were  missing,  and  for 
them  search  was  being  made.  One  shanty  had  been  swept 
clear  off  the  ground,  and  was  lodged  intact  between  two 
trees  locked  together  by  their  entwined  tops.  From  its  one 
window  a  woman  was  shrieking,  and  Clcvents,  who  was 
trying  to  get  to  her,  felt  suddenly  the  weight  of  another 
body  on  his  raft  of  lashed  logs,  and  the  help  of  an  added 
oar  or  pole  as  the  craft  was  guided  straight  to  its  destina- 
tion by  a  hand  stronger  than  his.  Turning,  he  saw  the 
intense  dark  face  and  the  garb  of  the  priest. 

"You  have  come? " 

"You  are  the  man?" 


THE   GENTLEMAN    FROM   WASHINGTON.  195 

No  other  words  were  exchanged;  but  the  priest  held  the 
raft  steady  while  Clevents,  with  scant  gallantry,  got  the 
woman — one  of  the  objectionable  half-breeds — through  the 
window  and  reached  the  wet  land  once  more,  to  the  grins 
and  delight  of  her  many  friends.  A  certain  air  of  distinc- 
tion surrounded  her  because  of  being  rescued  by  a  priest 
and  the  most  fastidious  ranger  in  the  diggings. 

The  two  "family  ladies"  watched  the  rescue  from  the 
safe  pinnacle  of  their  own  bluff,  and  took  turns  in  looking 
through  a  field-glass  at  the  picturesque  form  of  Father 
Henri  that  stood  out  definitely  among  the  rest.  They  saw 
Clevents  hold  out  his  hand  as  if  in  some  pledge,  and  after 
a  little  bit  the  tall  native  clasped  it,  and  pointed  with  the 
other  across  the  creek  where  the  trail  led  to  the  north  and 
west. 

But  Clevents  shook  his  head. 

"You  are  right,  I  think;  that  is  the  direction,  but  the 
force  of  the  Columbia  has  dammed  up  this  creek  so  that 
one  can't  cross  for  hours  to  come." 

"  Once  I  knew  every  trail  of  the  hills,  with  water-courses 
full  or  empty.  I  may  not  have  forgotten  the  path  to  her 
nest,"  said  the  priest,  quietly. 

Clevents  glanced  at  him  from  under  his  wide  hat,  won- 
dering just  how  deep  was  the  churchman's  interest  in  the 
little  squaw — the  haste  in  which  the  letter  had  been 
answered  surprised  him;  but  the  calm  dark  face  of  Henri 
Mercier  was  as  a  mask.  Clevents  scarcely  knew  how  to 
speak  to  him  of  the  stray  up  there,  but  said,  in  some 
embarrassment: 

"  Then  you  know  her  hiding-place?  I  was  told  you 
brought  her  back  to  her  people  once  before  when  she  was 
living  like  that.  I  must  say  I  find  it  hard  to  think  evil  of 
that  girl;  she  seems  so  fit  for  better  things  that  I  feit  it  a 
sort  of  duty  to  send  for  you." 


196  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"  If  any  say  the  child  lived  in  sin  that  other  time  when  I 
found  her,  they  speak  falsely,"  returned  the  other;  "if  she 
is  as  clean  of  soul  now — " 

But  his  voice  was  not  so  steady  as  before,  and  he  did 
not  finish  the  sentence.  At  his  feet  lay  something  black, 
washed  there  on  the  waters;  he  stooped  and  picked  it  up — 
a  little  black  cross.  After  a  little  he  said: 

"Will  you,  before  I  go  to  her,  tell  me  what  you  can?  It 
is  not  so  long  a  time  since  I  was  here,  yet  much  has  hap- 
pened. You  gambled  for  her — you  won  her — a  human  life 
— then  what? " 

Mr.  Clevents'  usually  audacious  eyes  wavered  before  the 
uncompromising  gaze  of  the  younger  man. 

"Then?  Not  much  of  anything,  so  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned. But  come  where  we  can  get  a  bite  to  eat,  there  we 
can  talk;  and  then  I'll  go  with  you,  if  you'll  have  me." 

The  priest  hesitated.  He  had  halted  but  because  of  the 
flood  of  back-water  and  the  calls  of  frightened  women.  He 
had  even  a  fear  that  she  might  be  among  them;  but  now 
that  she  was  not,  the  minutes  of  delay  were  as  hours. 

"  Well,  whatever  you  can  do,  I  don't  intend  to  take  the 
trail  without  some  breakfast  first.  I've  got  a  cook  to  be 
proud  of,  and  I  don't  think  the  water  reached  his  supply; 
and  while  we  are  eating,  filouise  may  come  into  camp.  She 
hasn't  been  here  for  days;  and  if  she's  on  high  ground,  she's 
likely  to  have  seen  that  cloud-burst,  or  whatever  it  was. 
This  is  Redney's  time  up,  and  she  will  more  than  likely  be 
anxious  about  him." 

"  Redney? " 

"  The  only  person,  I  believe,  who  knows  all  about  her 
and  who  is  with  her,  but  he  won't  tell — a  square  sort  of  a 
young  half-breed  who  has  charge  of  a  portage  gang  from 
Farwell." 

"He  is  yonder  but  a  little  ways,"  said  the  priest,  "if 


THE    GENTLEMAN    FROM    WASHINGTON.  197 

their  boats  are  not  caught  in  the  storm  of  wind  and  water. 
He  knew  me,  and  offered  to  be  my  messenger  to  l£louise; 
but  I  came — " 

Close  to  where  they  walked  a  woman  was  crouched 
against  the  wall  of  a  shed.  Wet  and  sodden  though  her 
garments,  she  seemed  half-asleep,  but  aroused  enough  to 
blink  up  at  the  two  men,  who  passed  on,  not  noting  her. 

"  Message  to  filouise,"  she  whispered  in  maudlin  fashion 
— "  message — I  will  see  where  stops.  Ho,  ho,  Henri  of  the 
black  gown!  You  hunt  for  the  squaws  and  no  pay  the 
money?  I  see — " 

She  staggered  to  her  feet  and  followed  slowly.  She  heard 
a  man's  voice  say,  "  Here  is  the  princess,  ladies;  your  curi- 
osity can  now  be  satisfied,"  and  stopping,  she  looked 
toward  the  speaker. 

He  was  laughing,  and  two  white  women,  pretty  and 
young,  gazed  at  her  in  wonder. 

"You  are  only  teasing  us,"  said  one  of  them;  "that  is. 
never  the  famed  Mestina,  who  sat  in  council — a  princess." 

The  Indian  woman  heard,  and  smiled  vacantly. 

"  Mestina — me,"  she  assented.  "  Princess  poor,  miserable, 
wet;  no  lum — no  chickamin;  sorry  princess." 

"And  a  sorry  one  you  look,"  retorted  Ewing.  "Have 
you  no  more  children  to  sell  and  buy  rum  with? " 

His  wife  touched  him  on  the  arm,  for  in  his  disgust  he 
had  blurted  out  more  than  he  had  intended,  and  Miss  Delia's 
eyes  were  very  wide  with  wonder;  but  the  representative  of 
Indian  royalty  answered  mournfully: 

"  No — none;  so  Mestina's  heart  is  sad.  Got  lum  for  poor — 
sick? " 

But  the  spirit  of  sympathy  was  not  abroad  in  the  land  that 
morning,  and  for  the  lack  of  it  La  Mestina  stood  like  a 
whimpering  statue  of  desolation  for  many  minutes  after 
the  others  walked  away  from  her.  She  knew  she  was  weak 


198  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

and  thirsty,  but  did  not  know  the  weakness  was  from 
starving.  She  wanted  rum.  She  even  seemed  to  forget 
her  first  intention  of  following  the  black  gown,  and  relapsed 
once  more  into  an  attitude  of  ease,  if  not  of  grace,  and 
made  a  couch  of  a  slanting  slab.  There,  heedless  of  the 
destruction  about  her,  and  the  turmoil  caused  by  the  bank- 
ing up  of  waters — there,  freed  from  the  carking  cares  of 
property  owners,  she  slept  the  sleep  of  the  guiltless  through 
the  added  hours,  until  the  noon  divided  the  day,  and  the 
wandering  ones  from  the  upper  mines  came  straggling  in 
with  stories  of  how  the  tornado  or  cloud-burst  had  appeared 
from  different  points  of  view;  for  the  rainfall  was  conceded 
to  be  but  a  local  affair,  and  there  were  peaks  west  and  north 
on  which  the  sun  had  never  ceased  shining. 

"  Talk  about  the  quick  storms  and  changes  of  the  tropics," 
growled  one  of  the  discontented — "  they'd  have  to  hustle 
some  to  keep  up  with  the  break  the  Columbia  made  this 
morning;  wonder  if  it's  true  that  the  portage  gang  are 
washed  down  with  it?  " 

"  No — only  one  boat  swamped,  and  one  owned  by  the 
stranger  that  just  set  up  the  drinks.  He's  bitter  on  that 
priest  for  not  lending  a  hand  to  hold  the  plunder,  but  you 
don't  see  the  black  gowns  exercise  their  muscles  much." 

"Who — Brother  Henri?"  remarked  one  of  the  Selkirk 
men,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  Well,  don't  you  ever  grow  reckless 
and  banter  him,  or  you'll  learn  your  mistake.  He's  a  skookum, 
you  bet." 

"  Wonder  if  he's  trying  to  convert  Clevents? " 

"  Say,  who's  that  packin'  truck  through  the  scrub-oaks?  " 

They   forgot   their  gossip   to  watch  the  man  with  the 

truck,  and  saw  there  were  two  of  them — Redney  and  one  of 

his  helpers;  and  the  stuff  they  carried  was  the  mail  and 

express  packages  that  were  deemed  of  too  much  value  to 


THE  GENTLEMAN   FROM   WASHINGTON.  199 

leave  back  with  the  outfit  anchored  among  the  trees,  high 
above  the  usual  lines  of  the  Columbia. 

The  first  face  that  met  the  young  messenger  as  he 
entered  Antoine's  door  was  that  of  the  dauntless  stranger 
who  had  joined  the  gang  at  Farwell. 

"  Well,  my  young  friend,  the  river  was  no  more  friendly 
than  yourself,  but  I  got  here  just  the  same,"  he  said,  airily. 

Men  were  gathering  in  to  ask  about  mail,  and  none 
noticed  that  Redney  had  no  reply  to  make.  Clevents  came 
in  on  hearing  the  mail  had  arrived,  and  the  priest  was  with 
him.  Each  had  been  watching  closely  the  back-water  of 
the  creek  that  had  been  steadily  falling  now  for  two  hours; 
one  more,  and  to  cross  it  would  not  be  impossible,  and  the 
nearer  route  to  Thunder  Mountain  could  be  entered  upon, 
and  in  the  end  be  reached  just  as  soon  as  by  the  other  possi- 
ble, but  almost  impassible,  course. 

Father  Henri  spoke  kindly,  but  in  reserved  fashion,  to 
the  several  who  pressed  forward  to  renew  acquaintance,  and 
to  Antoine's  attempted  gossip  of  filouise  he  gave  no  encour- 
agement. 

"  I  have  come  from  sick  bodies  in  the  flat-lands,  and  am 
going  to  a  sick  soul  in  the  hills,"  he  said;  "  that  is  enough 
for  you  to  know,  Antoine.  If  the  time  comes  when  I  can 
remain  among  you,  I  will  ask  you  of  all  the  trouble,  but 
not  to-day." 

And  Antoine  smiled  his  content,  and  offered  some  red 
wine  to  the  priest  in  memory  of  the  days  when  he  was  not 
a  priest,  but  only  a  little  Indian  carrying  traps  along  the 
valley.  But  once  the  clerical  back  was  turned,  his  dissat- 
isfaction was  outspoken. 

"You  come  here  to  remain  a  citizen?"  he  asked  the 
stranger,  who  was  getting  acquainted  by  distributing  drinks. 
"  Then  take  by  me  a  little  of  advice — me  who  did  help  first 
to  make  the  town  that  did  arrive  at  this  camp.  Keep  wide 


200  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

from  the  track  of  the  red-feet,  even  tkough  they  are  high- 
est of  the  church.  They  remember  no  favor  and  no  friend. 
There  is  this  one — so  often  has  he  eaten  of  my  bread,  but 
turns  like  a  stranger  if  I  but  ask  one  little  civil  thing,  and 
for  a  squaw  who  was  as  his  sister,  and  who  lives  now  in  the 
shameful  sin;  even  she  he  cares  nothing  to  bring  back  to 
the  church — so  quick  do  they  forget.  Though,"  he  added, 
truly  enough,  "  when  a  squaw  turns  bad — if  that  is  what 
the  young  one  is — it  is  waste  breath  for  the  man  who  tries 
to  convert  them  to  good  again;  and  if  she  is  not  bad,  would 
she  shun  all  people  and  live  alone  in  the  mountain?  Even 
a  squaw  that  is  old  will  not  do  that.  You,  now,  Mestare 
Harty,  a  gentleman  that  has  traveled  wide,  you  will  have 
known  enough  of  them  for  that." 

"Harte — my  name  is  Harte,"  explained  his  listener; 
"but  a  hearty  name,  too — ha!  ha!  Yes,  sir,  you're  right. 
The  curse  of  the  country  are  these  degraded  reds.  The 
missions  make  a  big  bluff  toward  civilizing  them,  but  what 
use  is  it?  That's  what  I  want  to  know,  gentlemen — what 
use  it?  Do  the  best  they  can,  and  a  Siwash  remains  a 
Siwash,  and  a  squaw  is  naturally  alow  piece  of  God's  crea- 
tion. They  can  teach  them  the  catechism,  but  they  can't 
keep  them  away  from  the  white  men's  camps." 

"  Especially  if  they're  half-starved  and  scent  a  square 
meal,"  remarked  a  joker  in  the  crowd. 

"Right  you  are,  and  we'll  just  drink  on  that.  And  they 
tell  me  there  is  one  miner  has  his  wife  up  here  from  the 
States.  Now  that's  a  thing  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind 
to  do — let  a  white  woman,  and  a  lady,  see  the  way  these 
degraded  squaws  live;  so  my  wife  lives  on  our  ranch 
down  in  Washington  when  I  take  a  notion  to  ride  the  line 
outside  civilization." 

"If  I  don't  miss  my  guess,  I  run  across  you  in  the  7o's 
down  in  the  Walla  Walla  country."  said  a  sharp-visaged 


THE   GENTLEMAN    FROM    WASHINGTON.  201 

veteran  who  had  been  watching  the  speaker  lazily;  "but  if 
you're  the  chap,  your  scalp-lock  hadn't  so  much  white  in  it, 
and  you  could  cover  all  the  ranches  you  owned  then  with 
your  two  feet." 

The  other  looked  nettled  for  an  instant,  and  then  joined 
in  the  smile  that  was  popular  at  that  moment. 

"I'm  the  chap,"  he  agreed,  "and  a  reckless  devil-may- 
care  I  was,  to  boot.  No,  I  hadn't  caught  up  with  luck  then, 
and  real  estate  wasn't  worth  much  in  my  eyes,  but  the 
white  scalp-lock  has  changed  that." 

"And  turned  you  on  the  reds,  too,"  insinuated  the 
veteran. 

The  man  from  Washington  gave  a  longer,  keener  look 
at  the  lazy  face  of  the  man,  but  it  was  blandly  innocent  of 
all  double  intent,  and  he  answered  decidedly: 

"Yes,  sir,  it  did;  and  if  I  make  a  business  stand  in  any 
part  of  the  country,  my  first  move  would  be  to  clear  the 
ground  of  such  cattle.  They  keep  decent  women  away, 
and  one  of  them — one  squaw — will  demoralize  more  men 
than — " 

And  then  a  couple  of  men  near  the  door  began  to  laugh, 
and  a  living  indorsement  of  Mr.  Harte's  words  dragged 
herself  in  from  the  road  and  stood  drowsy  and  stupid 
among  the  men. 

It  was  the  princess,  and  Redney,  who  had  hated  her 
faithfully  for  many  moons,  was  so  close  behind  her  as  to 
have  the  appearance  of  an  escort  to  the  slouchy  squaw;  in 
fact,  she  turned  to  him  and  said: 

"Where?  Who  waits  here  for  La  Mestina?  Damn! 
Devil!  You  lie  like  dog — or  white  man." 

He  did  not  reply.  His  eyes  were  too  busy  watching  the 
prosperous,  public-spirited  gentleman  from  Washington,  and 
he  was  gazing  in  utter  disgust  at  the  unkempt  creature 
whose  hair  fell  over  her  face. 


202  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

"Here's  a  living  example,"  he  began;  but  a  scream  from 
the  squaw  stopped  him.  The  hair  was  flung  from  her  eyes, 
and  she  stood  like  one  suddenly  awakened,  and  trembling 
visibly. 

"  Jimjams,"  remarked  one. 

"  Redney,  I  thought  you  didn't  deal  in  that  sort  of  stock," 
laughed  another;  but  the  boy  said  nothing.  He  was  smil- 
ing in  an  ugly  way  at  the  expression  on  the  face  of  the 
stranger  as  the  Indian  woman  moved  toward  him. 

"Rubee,"  she  said,  softly,  with  a  little  laugh — a  strange, 
blood-chilling  laugh — "Rubee,  all  the  day  .f.  wait  and  cry — • 
cry,  but  no — no  more.  You  come  at  night  time  all  same  to 
rest,  and  now — now — " 

She  looked  about  again  as  if  bewildered.  The  men 
watched  her  in  wonder.  No  one  among  them  had  ever 
heard  the  tones  in  which  she  spoke,  though  they  had  heard 
her  voice  in  oath  and  in  wrangle  for  many  seasons  along 
the  Columbia. 

But  all  the  unusual  gentleness  of  it  did  not  reassure  the 
stranger.  His  face  whitened  as  she  moved  nearer  to  him, 
with  one  hand  outstretched,  as  one  who  asks  alms. 

"Go  away!"  he  muttered,  hoarsely.  "What  the  devil 
does  she  mean?  Take  her  away,  some  of  you,  or  by 
God—" 

The  sweat  broke  on  his  forehead,  and  his  hand  clenched 
threateningly.  He  looked  like  a  man  who  sees  a  ghost; 
and  she  did  not  seem  quite  real  to  any  of  them — not 
natural,  at  all  events.  And  not  a  man  moved  except 
Redney,  and  his  revolver  was  suddenly  leveled  at  the 
clenched  hand. 

"  What  is  it  to  you?  "  demanded  the  man,  aroused  to  the 
fact  that  the  boy  had  an  active  antagonism  toward  him, 
instead  of  a  merely  passive  sulkiness.  But  he  dropped  his 
hand. 


THE   GENTLEMAN    FROM   WASHINGTON.  203 

The  Indian  woman  had  cowered  before  it  and  the  horror 
of  his  face,  but  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  smiled  in 
a  vacant,  horrible  way. 

"Rubee,"  she  grunted,  and  turned  around  once,  twice, 
with  a  blind,  groping  movement — "  Rub<?£/  " 

And  then  she  fell  to  the  floor,  as  filouise  had  spoken  of 
her  falling  long  before  when  she  realized  that  she  was 
deserted.  But  this  time  it  was  only  the  body  that  fell;  the 
breath  of  life  had  left  her  with  his  uttered  name. 

Redney  turned  the  sodden  face,  with  its  wide-open  eyes, 
up  to  the  gaze  of  all,  and  more  than  one  man  drew  back 
shuddering  at  the  picture,  and  reached  for  the  whisky- 
bottle. 

His  touch  was  not  particularly  gentle;  a  smothered  rage 
seemed  to  vibrate  through  gesture  and  voice. 

"  You're  in  luck,"  he  said,  insolently,  to  the  stranger, 
who  stood  moveless  and  pallid.  "  Here's  a  first-class 
specimen  of  depravity  for  you  to  lecture  about  and  guard 
your  decent  women  from.  But,  while  you're  about  it, 
couldn't  you  say  a  word  or  so  of  truth  for  the  beasts  like 
yourself  who  make  these  poor  devils  what  they  are? " 

"Hold  on,  little  one,"  said  one  of  the  men,  laying  a 
warning  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Men  have  to  swallow 
lead  for  less  than  that  sometimes." 

"  And  he'll  have  to  swallow  either  that  or  his  words," 
added  the  stranger,  who  was  more  self-reliant  when  dealing 
with  a  man  than  with  the  dead  wretch  on  the  floor. 
"You're  a  damned  insolent  young  cur,  anyway." 

Redney  looked  at  him  very  coolly,  very  contemptuously. 

"I  couldn't  well  be  anything  better  considering  the  low 
dog  of  a  father  you  gave  me.  Now,  curse  you,  if  you've 
got  anything  to  say  back  to  that,  say  it." 

But  he  did  not  seem  to  have  anything  to  say.  His  face 
flushed  scarlet  and  then  faded,  leaving  him  with  a  strange 


204  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

white  look  about  the  lips.  The  bold,  black  eyes  met  those 
of  the  boy  with  a  keen  scrutiny  that  ended  in  his  drawing 
his  empty  hand  from  his  hip-pocket,  and  trying  to  smile 
with  his  natural  air  of  bravado,  as  if  the  temper  of  the 
youth,  like  the  craziness  of  the  squaw,  was  beneath  a  man's 
notice. 

But  in  looking  from  the  dead  face  on  the  floor  to  the 
living  face  above,  the  smile  died  out,  and,  without  a  word, 
he  turned  away. 

And  Redney's  eyes,  with  something  like  a  bit  of  a  tiny 
blaze  showing  in  each  of  them,  watched  him  go  out  through 
the  side  door  by  which  filouise  had  fled  that  night  not  so 
very  long  ago. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ABOVE   THE   CLOUDS. 

WITH  the  faint  dawn-light  ^llouise  had  arisen  and  made 
her  fire  of  dry  sticks  where  the  fish  were  to  bake.  The 
sign  of  sleepless  nights  had  fallen  over  her  dark,  heavy 
eyes,  a  lassitude  unusal  bound  her  young  limbs,  and 
standing  there  looking  across  to  the  east  where  the  dim 
curtain  of  day  was  lifting  up,  she  seemed  strangely  old 
compared  with  the  impetuous  young  savage  who  had  flung 
the  cross  away  and  bound  on  her  breast  the  token  of  the 
pagan. 

Perhaps  it  had  through  all  those  fearful,  happy  weeks 
shielded  her  from  the  evil  she  had  begged  for  help  against; 
but  there  had  arisen  others,  soul-disturbing,  against  which 


ABOVE    THE   CLOUDS.  205 

the  charm  had  no  potency.  Would  the  cross  have  had?  She 
did  not  know;  she  did  not  regret.  Her  life  had  been  lived 
in  the  light  of  his  eyes  for  all  those  weeks.  Dearer  happi- 
ness than  that  she  had  not  prayed  for;  but  a  something 
un-Indian  in  her  nature  was  making  her  pay  a  mental  pen- 
alty, and  the  stings  of  dread  it  brought  her  were  keen  as  the 
cut  of  a  scourge.  Not  the  rustle  of  a  leaf,  or  flutter  of  a 
bird  in  the  brush,  but  that  she  feared  it  was  some  step  of 
fate  that  would  bear  the  truth  to  him.  She  was  living  only 
from  hour  to  hour,  from  day  to  day. 

Of  the  future  her  forebodings  were  so  sad  that  she  dared 
not  attempt  to  sing.  When  he  asked,  she  said  always 
"  No,"  for  in  her  memory  was  one  legend  of  a  singer  of  the 
past  who  in  the  improvising  of  song  from  his  thoughts 
had,  forgetful  of  listeners,  confessed  a  crime  for  which  he 
was  given  death. 

Not  that  she  feared  death — only  the  scorn  of  the  living. 

When  she  turned,  he  stood  close  beside  her;  he  was 
growing  stealthy  as  herself  in  all  movements,  for  the  sight 
of  her  constant  watchfulness  had  taught  him  caution. 

"  My  young  eagle,"  he  said,  fondly,  "do  you  never  sleep? 
for  I  always  find  you  up  and  awaiting  the  day.  Are  you 
trying  to  steal  the  daybreak  songs  of  the  birds  ?" 

"  I  am  listening  to  the  sounds  in  the  ice  mountains,"  she 
answered,  and  pointed  where  the  glaciers  of  the  Selkirks 
were  yet  hidden  in  fog.  "  Strange  noises  are  there — it  is 
from  the  hot  sun;  and  rains  are  coming  across  there  soon, 
and  that  will  be  bad  for  canoes  on  the  river." 

"  I  have  seen  no  signs  of  rain.  Do  the  birds  and  the  fishes 
tell  you  these  things?" 

"No;  but  about  the  peaks  over  there  little  clouds  have 
been  coming.  They  gather  and  gather  like  that,  then  they 
drift  up  and  out  as  the  wind  blows,  and  they  always  carry 
rain,  sometimes  more  than  rain,  for  the  little  winds  go 


206  SQUAW    ^LOUISE. 

around  and  around  the  bowls  of  the  mountains  until  they 
roar  and  grow  strong,  then  they  break  loose;  and  the  whites 
call  them  the  tornado." 

He  smiled  as  she  talked.  Her  speech  was  less  brief  than 
when  his  life  had  commenced  in  her  retreat.  He  seldom 
heard  her  use  now  the  Chinook  words — only  when  he  asked 
to  be  taught  their  meanings. 

"  How  wise  you  are  in  knowledge  of  the  origin  of  all 
phenomena  of  the  hills,"  he  said,  caressingly.  "  If  only  you 
would  give  half  as  much  thought  to  the  human  things  on 
them." 

"  I  do  think  much — I  do  what  I  can,"  and  she  turned 
wearily  away.  "  And  this  day  I  must  go  to  the  people  down 
there.  The  finished  work  must  be  taken;  it  is  all  done  now. 
If  Redney  is  there,  it  will  give  us  the  money  to  buy  a  boat; 
it  will  buy  you  the  way  toward  the  sea;  then  you  will  not 
say  I  do  not  think  of  you.  You  say  that  many  times;  you 
will  soon  say  it  no  more." 

He  checked  her  as  she  tried  to  pass  him;  barring  her 
way  with  one  arm,  he  touched  her  shoulder  with  the  other 
hand  ere  she  eluded  him. 

"  Do  not  leave  me  to-day,"  he  said,  suddenly. 

"And  why  so?  You  are  strong  now;  you  do  not  need 
me." 

"  I  shall  always  need  you,  opitsah"  (sweetheart),  he  an- 
swered, with  eyes  tender  as  his  words;  and  to-day — well, 
it's  only  a  fancy,  I  suppose,  but  I  dreamed  of  losing  you 
last  night.  I  awoke  myself  trying  to  call  you.  The  dream 
seemed  so  real  that  I  had  to  come  out  and  see  you,  hear 
you  speak;  but  the  dread  stays  with  me.  Do  you  under- 
stand? It  is  like  the  signs  of  the  storms  over  there;  it 
makes  me  afraid.  Do  not  leave  me." 

"  I  will  get  your  breakfast,  and  you  tell  me  of  the  dream," 
she  said,  as  if  hearing  none  of  the  tender  tones  of  his 


ABOVE    THE   CLOUDS.  207 

speech.  "  May  be  it  is  well  for  me  to  stop  here  to-day.  It 
would  be  bad  if  a  storm  should  come  that  would  keep  me 
in  the  valley.  But  tell  me  what  you  thought  in  your  sleep." 

Lines  of  sulphurous  yellow  were  ranging  themselves 
along  the  sky  in  the  far  east,  and  above  them  the  whitish 
banks  of  clouds,  that  soon  dropped  down  to  meet  the  mists 
of  the  valleys.  Only  for  a  few  minutes  did  the  lurid  light 
show  itself  threateningly,  and  left  only  the  moist  gray 
dawn  within  range  of  their  vision. 

It  was  an  unusual  thing  for  them  to  talk  in  the  dawning — 
he  seldom  saw  her  until  sunrise;  and  they  looked  strangely 
at  each  other  as  they  sat  watching  the  fish  cook;  then  he 
laughed.  / 

"  We  look  like  some  witch  and  wizard  at  some  incanta- 
tion scene,  before  the  day  is  awake  to  watch  us.  I  feel  as 
people  do  when  waiting  for  a  journey  that  is  to  be  made — 
an  unsettled  feeling.  I  wonder  what  it  is  we  are  both  out 
here  waiting  for  this  morning." 

"You  did  not  yet  tell  me  of  the  dream,"  she  answered. 

"  Oh,  it  was  not  a  long  dream,  only  I  thought  you  were 
a  bird,  and  I  saw  you  fly  away,  and  was  not  troubled  about 
it  until,  suddenly,  a  dark  wall  rose  up  and  shut  you  out  of 
sight.  I  could  not  even  see  the  blue  sky  or  the  white 
clouds  where  you  had  been;  and  when  I  thought  you  were 
gone  forever,  I  fell  on  my  face  in  the  darkness,  and  called, 
and  called,  but  you  would  not  answer.  When  I  wakened,  I 
was  still  trying  to  call  you,  and  there  were  tears  on  my  face, 
and  I  was  trembling  and  sick  at  heart." 

"  I  can  not  see  far  into  dreams,"  she  said,  thoughtfully, 
"but  I  will  not  go  far  from  you  to-day.  Mestina  could  tdl 
you  all  the  meanings  of  dreams,  so  they  called  her  wise." 

"  She  could  not  have  told  the  meaning  of  many  when  J 
saw  her  last." 

"  No,"  agreed  the  girl;  "her  life  has  run  so  far  wrong. 


208  SQUAW   fLOUISE. 

Do  you  know  how  the  trees  bend  crooked  when  they  are 
hewed  near  to  the  heart?  People  turn  like  that  sometimes,  so 
I  think.  They  grow  straight,  may  be,  for  years,  and  then  the 
sorrow,  or  the  evil,  touches  the  heart,  and  their  life  is 
crooked  from  that  until  the  grave." 

"Sometimes  I  wish  you  could  have  schools,  like  the 
daughters  of  white  people,"  he  said,  "just  to  see  how  you 
might  have  grown  under  cultivation;  and  then  the  fear  that 
they  might  have  robbed  you  of  your  naturalness  by  their 
pattern  system  makes  me  glad  every  time  you  speak  that  the 
mountains  were  your  only  teachers." 

She  dropped  her  head  in  her  hands,  and  the  un-Indian 
sound  of  a  sob  came  to  his  ears. 

"  Do  not — be  so  kind  in  your — words,"  she  muttered, 
whisperingly;  "  in  my  heart  is  a  pain  when  you  speak.  I 
am  better  alone  or  in  your  silence." 

He  reached  out  his  hand  pleadingly,  and  was  about  to 
speak,  when  she  sprung  to  her  feet,  with  her  hand  raised 
and  a  caution  to  silence  on  her  lips. 

She  seemed  listening  intently,  but  he  could  hear  nothing, 
and,  wordless,  watched  her  face  that  was  paler  than  he  had 
ever  noticed  it;  and  on  her  lashes  the  tears  shone  tremu- 
lously. 

After  a  little  the  dim  sounds  came  to  his  ears  too,  sounds 
like  muffled  thunder,  and  sharp  reports  breaking  through  it. 
Masses  of  clouds  drifted  before  them,  and  hid  from  their 
<nght  whatever  it  was  that  roared  and  surged  between  the 
ranges.  A  mighty  tempest  seemed  raging  so  short  a  dis- 
tance away,  and  its  coming  had  been  swift  as  the  wind. 
Clouds  rolled  to  their  feet  and  almost  hid  their  faces  from 
each  other;  birds  flew  with  frightened  cries  to  their  shelter 
under  the  terrace;  things  unseen  rustled  and  fled  through 
the  brush  so  close  about  them,  and  over  and  above  all  else 


ABOVE    THE    CLOUDS. 

was  that  mighty  cloud-draped  force  with  the  wind-shrieks 
driving  it  onward. 

Instinctively  those  two  moved  closer.  Death  was  surely 
sweeping  across  their  path.  Each  face  was  white  in  that 
strangest  of  all  mornings,  as  he  reached  his  hands  to  her, 
and  her  own  met  them. 

With  the  end  of  life  ends  the  rule  of  the  world  and  its 
barriers,  and  the  end  of  life  had  surely  come  to  them;  and 
as  he  drew  her  close,  all  disguises  were  ended  for  filouise. 

They  sunk  to  the  ground  as  the  wind  struck  them — not 
thrown  by  the  force,  but  staggering  through  the  envelop- 
ing cloud  to  a  nook  of  shelter.  The  pebbles  and  sand  of 
the  mountain  cut  in  their  faces  until  he  drew  hers  close 
to  his  own.  They  dared  not  open  their  eyes,  for  the  wind 
that  had  only  bent  the  tree-tops  in  the  valley  surged  and 
broke  against  the  high  walls  of  the  hills.  Not  a  drop  of 
rain  came  to  them,  only  the  terrific  rage  of  the  wind  shriek- 
ing and  storming  at  their  fortress  of  shelter. 

And  through  it  all  he  held  her,  unresisting,  in  his  arms;, 
though  winning  no  word  from  her,  he  whispered  again  and 
again  fond  words,  fond  names,  and  touched  her  with  his 
lips.  She  moved  shiveringly  in  his  embrace,  but  opening 
her  eyes  on  the  dread  gray  walls  that  closed  down  like  a 
tomb  and  would  scarce  let  her  see  his  face,  she  turned  to 
him  with  a  helpless  moan  that  was  smothered  by  his  mouth 
pressed  against  her  own. 

Away  below  in  the  valley  a  deluge  was  descending  into 
the  Columbia  and  its  tributaries  for  a  mile  on  either  side; 
and  the  tempest  of  wind  was  making  strange  twists  and 
curves  along  the  range — now  darting  down  and  leveling 
all  it  touched,  and  then  rising  triumphant  from  the  spoils, 
would  merely  touch  the  tops  of  the  trees  for  miles.  But 
about  the  summit  of  the  ancient  hill  of  rtfuge  the  clouds 

14 


210  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

pressed,  black,  moving,  shifting,  but  forgotten  by  the  hur- 
rying winds. 

And  those  two,  drawn  to  each  other  more  closely  by  the 
threatening  dangers  than  they  had  ever  been  by  the 
uneventful  security  of  their  days,  heard,  as  in  a  trance,  the 
roar  of  the  tornado  pass  away  through  echoing  gulches, 
growing  fainter  and  fainter  in  the  distance,  but  leaving 
that  thick  gray  canopy  about  them. 

Whether  it  was  minutes  or  hours  that  passed,  they  could 
not  have  told,  for  time  had  halted  under  the  dense  cover 
they  had  thought  was  a  shroud;  but  when  it  lifted  at  last,  it 
did  so  as  quickly  as  it  had  fallen,  and  by  the  wings  of  the 
wind  the  great  billows  were  swept  aside,  and  the  sun  high 
in  the  heavens  shone  down  mercilessly  on  their  entwined 
arms. 

She  dresv  away,  with  a  mingled  cry  of  shame,  contrition, 
and  accusation. 

"^louise!"  he  begged,  reproachfully,  "comeback.  Do 
not  look  at  me  like  that.  What  difference  does  the  sunlight 
make?  You  are  mine  now  through  all  the  days,  all  the 
nights.  Come!  " 

But  the  lips  that  had  softened  under  his  kisses  were  firm 
as  a  drawn  bow.  She  had  dreamed  a  sweet  dream  with  the 
hope  of  death  to  follow,  but  awoke  to  the  light  of  the  sun 
and  to  judgment  of  herself. 

"No!  no!  no!"  she  moaned,  staggering  back  from  him; 
"  do  not  touch,  do  not  follow.  You  will  hate  me  much, 
may  be,  when  that  sun  shines  again — when  I  tell  to  you  — 

But  she  could  not  say  it.  He  met  her  strange  gaze, 
passionate  yet  pathetic,  for  an  instant,  and  then  she  van- 
ished quickly  as  the  clouds  had  gone;  and,  call  as  he  might, 
she  would  not  return.  Whatever  battles  of  the  heart  or 
conscience  she  had  to  fight,  she  had  taken  to  the  lonely 
places  of  the  mountain. 


HENRI   MERCIER.  21J 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HENRI   MERCIER. 

LEFT  alone,  he  was  restless  and  uneasy.  Would  she  come 
back,  or  would  she,  remembering  again  the  night  he  had 
sold  her,  pit  that  memory  against  the  love  she  had  proven, 
and  in  revenge  leave  him  there  to  starve  if  he  might?  He 
had  heard  of  Indian  natures  puzzling  in  their  methods  of 
vengance;  and  surely,  of  all  inexplicable  Indians,  this  fond, 
yet  repellant,  young  savage  was  the  most  so. 

He  watched  the  sun  pick  out  other  peaks  from  the 
changing  clouds,  and  wondered  if  the  settlement  near  the 
river  had  been  swept  as  the  hills  had;  if  so,  none  of  it  would 
be  left,  for  all  along  the  mountain-side  the  timber  was  torn 
out  by  the  roots  and  twisted  off  many  feet  from  the  ground. 

If  filouise  had  attempted  that  trip  down  the  mountain, 
she  would  have  been  crushed  to  death,  and  the  thought 
coming  to  him  brought  a  swift  horror  to  his  heart — if  he 
should  lose  her! 

He  did  not  dare  tell  himself  yet  that  perhaps  he  had  lost 
her.  The  memory  of  her  final  surrender,  of  her  wordless 
acknowledgment  of  love  as  she  lay  in  his  arms,  was  too 
sweet  a  victory  to  spoil  by  forebodings  of  evil.  Being  a 
strange,  wild  creature,  she  had  fled  as  a  bird  from  the  cage 
of  his  arms;  but  even  the  bird  returns  to  the  prison  of  the 
hand  it  loves,  and  so  would  filouise  return — he  was  so  sure, 
so  sure! 

And  when  she  did,  how  effectually  he  would  quell  those 
absurd  fears  of  hers  that  he  might  ever  hate  her — as  if  that 
could  be  possible! 


'212  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

She  did  not  seem  so  much  like  a  weird  little  witch 
now  as  she  did  before,  despite  the  uncanny  surroundings 
to  their  love-making.  She  was  only  a  foolish  little  girl  who 
adored  him  and  who  was  ashamed  of  having  confessed  it. 

So  thinking,  he  took  up  the  task  she  had  left  unfinished, 
that  of  preparing  breakfast.  Convulsions  of  nature  or  of 
the  spirit  may  for  awhile  drown  forgetfulness  of  meal-time, 
but  not  for  long;  and  the  sun  falling  westward  from  the 
center  of  the  sky  told  him  that  the  noon  was  past. 

He  gathered  sticks  and  replaced  the  fire  blown  into  the 
little  rill  by  the  storm,  and  at  every  turn,  coming  and  going, 
he  looked  and  listened  for  steps  of  the  young  savage.  He 
•even  went  to  that  sheer  wall  under  the  grotto  of  the  altar, 
remembering  her  former  threat,  but  neither  dead  nor  living 
Elouise  lay  at  its  base. 

He  nervously  began  to  dread  remaining  alone  in  their 
home  under  the  cliff.  Shadows  of  lives  that  had  been 
seemed  to  fill  every  nook  and  corner.  His  fancy,  despite 
himself,  would  wander  to  the  weird  legends  of  the  people 
who  had  lived  there  ages  ago.  The  dead  nation  that  ruled 
in  the  land  had  sung  its  triumphs  from  these  heights,  and 
held  as  sacred  the  weak,  the  penitent,  and  the  outlaw  who 
fled  to  the  fortress  above;  and  of  all  their  sovereign  glories 
nothing  remained,  and  only  one  little  semi-pagan,  semi- 
christian  lived  of  this  generation  as  heir  to  their  blood  and 
their  spirit. 

Was  it  so  strange  to  wonder  if  they  would  not  guard  or 
avenge  her?  He  arose  impatiently  at  the  thought;  it 
annoyed  him  and  made  him  glance  quickly  over  his  shoulder 
at  a  sound  as  of  something  creeping  through  the  leaves 
toward  him.  But  he  could  see  nothing. 

The  sun  was  almost  down.  That  thought  of  the  hosts  of 
the  savage  dead  ranging  themselves  against  him  was  horri- 
ble; he  could  not  get  it  out  of  his  mind,  yet  he  told  himself 


HENRI   MERCIER. 

again  and  again  there  would  be  nothing  to  avenge.  Why 
should  there  be?  He  was  too  fond  of  her  to  treat  her  basely,, 
or — 

Again  he  turned  at  that  sound — a  strange,  dragging  sound 
back  of  him — and  saw,  but  a  few  feet  away,  the  slow  coiling 
of  a  snake  with  its  flat  head  thrust  forward  and  moving 
oddly  from  side  to  side. 

Not  a  thing  was  near  to  defend  himself  with — everything 
of  wood  was  blown  away  by  the  wind;  but  springing  back 
beyond  the  length  of  it,  he  found  in  the  brush  a  long  wattle 
of  oak,  from  which  he  stripped  leaves  and  branches. 

The  reptile  seemed  to  fly  at  him  as  he  returned,  but  being 
beyond  its  reach,  he  struck  it  just  back  of  the  head  as  it  was 
coiling  for  a  second  attack. 

Its  neck  was  broken  by  the  stroke,  but  the  way  it  thrashed 
the  ground  in  its  ceaseless  writhings  showed  so  much 
vitality  that  he  felt  in  no  way  secure  until  he  had  found  a 
stone  with  which  to  finish  its  death.  . 

It  was  the  first  snake  he  had  ever  seen  up  there,  and  had 
no  idea  of  its  kind;  it  had  no  doubt  fled  from  below  in  the 
tempest. 

But  wherever  it  came  from,  the  blood  or  the  poison  from 
it  sickened  him.  He  moved  away,  turning  his  face  in  the 
direction  the  fresh  wind  was  coming,  and  bending  his  head 
in  his  hands  sat  down,  feeling  dizzy  and  disgusted — the 
horrid  black  coil  there  had  made  him  ridiculously  nervous. 
If  only  IClouise  would  come  and  free  him  from  the  suspense,, 
the  loneliness,  that  the  coming  of  that  serpent  had  only 
intensified.  It  had  crept  into  their  retreat  like  a  warning  of 
evil  to  their  Eden. 

Lifting  his  eyes  to  look  again  at  the  dead  foe,  he  arose 
slowly  to  his  feet  in  a  breathless  sort  of  wonder,  for  stand- 
ing over  the  snake,  like  a  suddenly  materialized  spirit,  was 
the  somber,  dark  figure  of  the  Indian  priest. 


SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

Not  a  sound  had  betrayed  his  coming;  in  fact,  Dunbar 
had  an  idea  he  must  have  been  there  a  long  time,  invisible. 
The  snake,  yet  moving,  touched  his  feet,  but  he  did  not 
bend  even  a  glance  to  it.  His  eyes  were  fixed  in  mute  ques- 
tion on  the  surprised  man  who  faced  him,  a  tall,  full-bearded, 
rather  pale-faced  man,  whom  few  would  have  ever  recog- 
nized as  "  Gentleman  Neil." 

But  after  his  first  moment  of  doubt  as  to  whether  it  was 
an  apparition  or  a  man,  Dunbar  knew,  and  flushed  slightly 
at  the  thought,  that  it  was  no  other  than  the  Henri  whom 
she  had  always  loved  best — who  had  been  her  friend  and 
champion,  but  whose  kindness  of  visage  was  marred  by  the 
set,  stern  mouth  and  the  deep  wrinkle  between  the  eyes, 
He  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  You — live  here,  stranger? " 

Dunbar  grew  stronger  at  the  words,  since  the  priest  did 
not  seem  to  know  whom  he  was  addressing. 

"Yes,  it's  a  summer  resort  of  mine,"  he  answered,  easily; 
"  rather  high  for  the  average  ranger.  Barring  that  creature, 
you  are  my  first  visitor." 

"You  live  alone?" 

"Well,  yes;  my  family  is  rather  limited." 

"And  filouise — where  is  she?" 

"Who?    Why—" 

"Do  not  be  false!  "  and  the  priest's  voice  had  a  ring  of 
command  instead  of  entreaty.  "  The  track  of  her  moc- 
casin is  in  the  wet  sand  by  the  stream,  and  that  is  not  the 
•work  of  a  white  man." 

The  thing  pointed  to  was  the  deer-skin  hunting-dress, 
with  its  fringed  and  beaded  trimmings.  He  had,  in  sheer 
loneliness,  brought  it  out  from  the  dwelling,  cutting  over 
any  of  the  fringe  admitting  of  it,  and  admiring  the  fancy 
bit  of  Indian  work  which  he  supposed  would  soon  be  car- 
ried away  south  by  that  lucky  lady.  One  of  the  tiny  moc- 


HENRI    MERCIER.  215 

casins,  with  a  blood-red  heart  on  the  toe,  lay  clear  of  the 
rest,  and  spoke  loudly  against  him.  He  stood  sullenly  still. 

"Somewhere  on  the  mountain  she  is  hidden;  where  it  is 
you  must  tell  me,"  continued  the  other,  quietly.  "  I  am 
here  to  take  her  away." 

"  No!  that  you  shall  not  do,"  he  began,  angrily;  and 
then,  checking  himself,  added,  "  that  is,  against  her  will. 
But  if  she  wanted  to  go  to  you,  wouldn't  she  do  that  with- 
out you  coming  after  her?  " 

The  priest  seemed  stung  with  the  truth  in  the  words,  and 
the  taunt  in  them. 

"  But  if  it  is  that  she  is  kept  by  fear — by  force?  " 

"Was  she  ever  afraid?"  asked  Dunbar,  more  quietly. 
"  Your  wanting  to  know  about  her  is  all  right,  of  course. 
She  has  told  me  of  you.  But  you  must  not  think  she  is 
here  unwillingly.  You  will  only  make  her  unhappy  by 
coming,  and  she  is  better  contented  than  in  the  settlement 
down  there;  let  her  be." 

The  softened  intonation  of  the  speaker  made  the  priest 
look  at  him  more  keenly.  He  had  dealt  with  rough  men 
most  of  his  life,  but  knew  that  this  man  did  not  belong  to 
the  uncouth,  however  he  might  appear  an  outcast,  possi- 
bly a  renegade. 

"  She  is — your  wife? "  he  asked,  suddenly,  and  his  lips 
scarcely  moved  with  the  question;  but  Dunbar,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  shook  his  head. 

"Why,  no;  a  man  can't  marry  every  little  squaw  who 
cooks  his  meat,  you  know." 

"  filouise  is  different  from  many  squaws  you  may  have 
known,"  returned  the  priest,  with  a  chill  sort  of  patience. 
"  She  must  keep  the  lodge  of  but  one  man.  She  is  a  child 
in  heart,  but  we  are  men;  men  must  think  for  children  and 
the  old  people.  She  lives  with  you  here  alone,  and  your 
heart  turns  to  her?  " 


216  SQUAW  £LOUISE. 

"  She  has  been  here — yes." 

The  priest  looked  at  him  for  an  answer  to  the  other 
question — looked  at  him  so  long,  so  sternly,  that  Dunbar 
felt  the  red  waves  flushing  up  to  his  hair.  He  strove  to 
return  glances  defiant,  but  failed;  and  the  other,  with  a 
long  breath,  as  of  a  man  half-strangled,  held  up  his  hand 
for  silence. 

"  Tell  me  no  words,"  he  said.  "  But  she  is  of  my  people; 
she  was  meant  for  the  holy  church — so  it  would  have  been. 
If  you  have  robbed  the  church  of  her  life,  claimed  her  for 
the  world,  you  must  pay  the  world's  price.  I  have  come 
for  that;  so  it  must  be." 

"The  price?  My  God!  would  you  be  willing  to  sell  her, 
as  her  mother  was  to  gamble  her  away?  Is  that  your 
friendship  for  your  people,  the  teaching  of  your  holy 
church?  Well,  my  wealth  is  shadowy  just  now;  but  if 
promissory  notes  will  be  taken,  we  may  settle  this  family 
matter  amicably,"  and  Dunbar's  contempt  was  very  appar- 
ent in  his  speech.  "  I'd  be  willing  to  give  a  good  deal  and 
be  rid  of  you  before  she  gets  back;  before  she  knows  that 
you  can  be  as  grasping  for  money  as  the  old  princess 
herself." 

"  The  old  princess  is  dead.  Let  the  dead  rest — if  they 
can!  Her  body,  dying  this  morning,  was  only  a  part  of 
death;  her  soul  died  so  many  years  ago,  killed  by  a  man 
perhaps  like  you." 

"Well,  you  are  cursedly  impertinent,  anyway,"  retorted 
Dunbar,  angrily;  "  and  imaginative,  too.  The  certainty  of 
old  Mestina  ever  having  possessed  a  soul  is  doubtful;  if  so, 
it  must  have  been  donated  by  the  devil.  But  that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  filouise;  and  what  is  the  price  you  have 
settled  on,  and  to  whom  am  I  to  pay  it? " 

The  contemptuous  query  was  made  in  mere  curiosity. 
He  had  no  idea  of  really  buying  filouise.  Was  she  opt  his 


HENRI   MERCIER.  217 

by  more  than  the  will  of  her  tribe?  But  no  man  who  has 
lived  in  the  forests  of  that  north  country  is  surprised,  even 
at  this  day,  to  hear  of  a  squaw  sold  for  money.  He  had 
expected  something  different  from  this  priest  he  had  heard 
much  of.  Yet,  after  all,  he  was  only  an  Indian. 

"  Come,  now,  the  price?  "  he  repeated. 

"Your  name,  and  the  payment  to  be  made  to  her — 
filouise." 

"Well,  by  God!" 

"  By  the  God  it  shall  be,"  affirmed  the  other,  quietly. 
"  Marriage  ordained  of  him  must  not  be  desecrated'  by  his 
children.  Men  far  in  the  wilderness  live  lives  unpleasing 
in  the  eyes  of  heaven  often,  and  thoughtlessly  so,  but 
when  the  church,  in  her  priests,  seeks  them  as  bearers  of 
the  sacrament,  then  surely  must  the  clean-hearted  be 
thankful.  So  I  am  come  to  you,  by  the  help  of  the  saints, 
in  the  name  of  Christ  crucified." 

Dunbar  recoiled  before  the  burning  eyes  of  the  zealot, 
whose  expression  had  something  exalted  in  it.  Doubts  of 
the  man's  sanity  flashed  through  his  mind. 

"You  are  surely  not  serious,"  he  said,  at  last,  in  a  pacific 
tone,  "filouise  can  choose  her  own  life,  as  other  women 
have  done.  If  she  chooses  to  remain  with  me,  she  shall  not 
be  sorry.  But  more  than  that  I  can  not  promise;  and  to 
marry,  actually  marry,  a  squaw  is  more  than  any  man  must 
ask  of  me." 

"  Will  you  find  a  better  heart  and  soul  among  your  white 
women?  " 

"No,"  he  answered,  frankly  enough;  "she  is  devoted  to 
— her  friends.  But  you,  though  priest,  see  enough  of  the 
world  to  know  that  white  men  owe  a  duty  to  their  own 
race  when  they  pick  their  wives,  and  their  race  does  .not 
approve  of  Indians  in  their  families." 

"  My  mother  was  an  Indian,  my  father  was  a  good  man; 


218  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

he  married  her,"  said  the  priest,  with  that  strange  patience 
he  had  shown  from  the  first. 

"  Oh,  well,  but  he  was  a  hunter,  living  with  her  tribe.  I 
will  hardly  live  such  a  life." 

"  I  have  asked  you  not  what  you  are,  nor  how  you  live. 
From  your  speech,  you  perhaps  belong  to  some  family  that 
is  proud.  You  see  I  understand?  Well,  I  will  tell  you,  if  it 
is  of  ancient  birth,  of  ruling  blood,  in  all  the  land  there 
lives  none  this  day  with  the  sovereign  pedigree  of  that 
child,  who  knows  not  their  value  in  the  white  man's  land.  It 
is  no  slave  I  ask  you  to  take.  If  she  were  dowered  as  a  prin- 
cess of  your  world  is  dowered,  she  would  be  equal  in  race  and 
tribe  with  any,  if  only  by  her  Indian  blood.  The  white 
blood  of  the  father  may  be  unclean — it  is  often  so;  but 
you  can  lead  her  away  where  she  can  forget  the  evil  he 
brought  to  them.  As  a  wife  she — " 

"See  here,"  interrupted  Dunbar,  "I  believe  all  you  say. 
Your  intentions  are  good  enough,  but  it's  no  use.  Fond  as 
I  am  of  her,  I  can't  and  won't  marry  an  Indian.  I'd  die 
first." 

The  priest  nodded  his  head,  so  keenly  intent  in  his  quest 
that  he  did  not  hear  a  choking  sound  from  above  their 
heads,  where  the  ledge  jutted  over  like  a  roof,  or,  if  he  had, 
might  have  thought  it  his  gambling  friend  coming  closer 
at  the  sound  of  raised  voices. 

"Listen!  "  he  urged,  appealingly.  "You  say  she  is  devoted 
to  her  friends;  how  much  more  devoted,  then,  has  she 
shown  herself  to  you  when  she  forgets  them  all  for  your 
words.  She  is  only  a  child,  a  pure  one  at  heart  when  I 
knew  her  last.  Could  you  spoil  all  that  by  making  her  life 
like  the  life  of  her  mother?  Her  life  is  yours  to  make  or 
unmake.  I  know  that  in  my  heart,  else  she  would  not  live 
here  where  you  live.  Her  soul  has  been  as  a  white  flower 
opening  above  swamps  where  the  poison  is.  Like  the 


HENRI   MERCIER.  219 

eaglets,  whose  nest  she  shared  once,  she  has  lived  above 
the  levels  of  evil.  We  must  keep  her  so — you,  the  man  she 
turns  to,  and  I — " 

He  stopped  uncertainly,  and  clasped  with  his  fingers  the 
crucifix.  Was  there  anything  more  to  say?  He  had  said 
so  much,  so  many  words,  persistent  yet  not  hopeful  words, 
for  the  man  before  him  seemed  to  congeal  with  each  added 
plea. 

"Good  God!"  he  broke  out,  "you  talk  as  though  I 
would  be  a  brute  to  her!  I!  Why,  man — but  what  use  is 
there  in  telling  you,  a  priest?  Priests  do  not  understand 
loves  of  men  and  women;  so  leave  us  alone." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  he  answered,  with  calm  significance.  I 
came  to  give  her  to  you  in  marriage  if  your  minds  turned 
toward  each  other;  but  if  you  say  no,  then  I  will  leave 
you  much  alone,  for  I  will  take  her  away.  Will  you  bring 
her  to  me  for  marriage?  " 

He  put  the  question  as  though  it  were  final,  and  Dunbar's 
lips  straightened  angrily. 

"No!  I  won't  be  bullied  into  promising  anything,  and 
that's  all  there  is  of  it,"  he  declared.  "We  will  get  along 
better  without  your  interference  than  with  it;  but  to  talk  of 
taking  her  from  me  is  foolish,"  and  in  spite  of  himself,  the 
note  of  triumph  would  ring  through  his  speech.  "You 
will  never  make  her  leave  me  while  I  live." 

The  priest's  hat  dropped  to  the  ground;  he  raised  his 
hand,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  the  air,  and  seeming 
in  Dunbar's  eyes  to  suddenly  loom  up  taller,  more  impos- 
ing, and  with  as  terrible  a  light  in  his  eyes  as  had  belonged 
to  the  dead  serpent  at  his  feet. 

"  The  time  that  you  live  will  be  short,"  he  said,  and  the 
slow  concentration  of  the  tone  was  chilling.  "  Think  of 
prayer,  think  of  God!  Of  your  sins,  I  absolve  you!  Of 
your  blood,  be  it  on  my  head!" 


220  SQUAW   fLOUISE. 

And  then,  as  a  panther  springs  on  its  prey,  so  he  hurled 
himself  on  the  other,  who  went  down  under  the  blow  as 
the  brittle  trees  in  the  leveling  wind. 

Dunbar  reached  for  a  knife,  but  the  circling  fingers  on 
his  throat  rendered  him  powerless.  In  the  dark,  vengeful 
face  of  the  priest — a  face  all  Indian  now — he  read  the  use- 
lessness  of  a  hope  for  mercy.  Death  lurking  in  those 
strong  dark  fingers  turned  all  the  sky  a  narrowing  dome 
of  crimson  in  his  starting  eyes,  and  that  face  above  him 
but  a  darker  blot  of  blood,  and  then  he  knew  no  more. 

Of  that  low  cry  from  the  shelf  of  the  ledge  and  the  form 
of  the  girl  darting  from  her  hiding-place,  of  the  sudden 
crashing  through  the  brush  and  the  horror-stricken  expos- 
tulation of  Clevents,  the  man  on  the  ground  was  past 
hearing,  and  the  man  above  past  heeding. 

filouise  clung  to  the  priest's  hands,  moaning,  "Henri! 
Henri!  "  while  Clevents,  with  what  words  and  what  muscle 
he  could,  was  striving  to  draw  him  from  the  thing  that 
seemed  only  a  lifeless  body. 

"  Henri,  hear!  "  and  the  girl  raised  herself,  facing  him, 
on  her  knees,  and  whipping  from  her  blouse  the  knife  Clev- 
ents had  seen  her  use  before — "  let  him  go,  or  I,  filouise, 
I  who  love  you,  will  die  with  him.  You  will  kill  us  both." 

He  saw  the  knife  raised  to  her  throat,  the  point  even 
touched  the  soft  neck,  when  he  caught  her  hands  and 
wrested  the  knife  from  her. 

She  let  it  go  without  effort,  and  dropped  moaning  on  the 
still  form  before  her,  shielding  the  neck,  livid-striped,  with 
her  own  face. 


^LOUISE.  221 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

^LOUISE. 

CLEVENTS,  wordless,  stepped  back,  watching  the  strange 
actors  in  the  drama  of  the  Indian  refuge.  He  had  not 
heard  the  words  of  the  two  men,  having  halted  too  far  off. 
The  girl  he  had  not  seen  at  all  until  the  men  were  on  the 
ground,  but  she  had  evidently  seen  their  approach  and 
crept  close  in  their  wake;  and  the  priest,  looking  down  on 
the  girl  with  an  indescribable  expression  on  his  face,  had 
filled  his  mind  with  strange  conjectures  and  a  good  deal  of 
amazement. 

He  was  again  as  still,  as  undemonstrative,  as  he  had  been 
since  Clevents'  first  meeting  with  him.  The  creature  of 
passion,  who  had  for  those  moments  clung  with  such  diabol- 
ical tenacity  to  the  other  man's  throat,  had  faded  again 
into  the  character  more  fitting  to  the  garb  he  wore,  and  lis- 
tened with  cold  face  to  the  low  moaning  breaths  of  the 
girl  who  bent  in  such  intense  question  over  Dunbar. 

"  Is  it  then  so,  oh,  filouise?"  he  asked  in  their  own  Ian- 
guage.  "Is  it  so  that  the  pride  of  the  eagle's  heart  is 
lowered  to  the  carrion  toward  which  the  foul  birds  fly? 
Has  the  soul  of  your  race  died  within  you  at  the  words  of 
a  stranger?  Had  you  never  a  blade  for  your  own  breast  ere 
your  heart  grew  weak?  For  I,  who  led  you  to  the  baptism 
of  the  holy  church,  would  have  dug  the  grave  for  your 
body  and  sung  triumph  songs  sooner  than  see  you  bowed 
with  the  shame  of  your  life." 

She  turned  one  pleading,  deprecating  glance  to  him. 

"You  do  not  know,"  she  answered  in  English;  that  was 


222  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

all — a  vibrating,  pathetic  suggestion  in  the  words  that 
thrilled  Clevents,  though  he  could  say  nothing.  He  felt 
barred  away  from  her  by  those  two  men. 

But  a  little  cry  from  her  brought  him  nearer. 

"  He  has  breath!  he  is  living!  "  she  said,  and  drew  back 
a  little. 

It  was  true;  the  tremulous  lids  of  the  eyes,  and  the  slight 
gasping  breath  growing  stronger  with  each  effort,  showed 
that  the  Indian  priest  had  at  least  stopped  short  of  murder; 
but  he  did  not  seem  particularly  interested  in  the  fact.  It 
was  Clevents  who  carried  water  in  his  hands  and  dashed  it 
in  the  man's  face,  and  from  a  pocket-flask  poured  whisky 
between  his  teeth,  looking  at  him  all  the  time  in  a  puzzled, 
scrutinizing  way. 

As  for  the  girl,  despite  her  despair  at  his  fancied  death, 
she  arose  from  his  side  with  little  of  joy  in  her  face  and 
turned  to  the  priest. 

He  saw  all  the  sadness  of  her  eyes  and  the  heart-breaking 
tremble  of  the  childish  lips,  but  above  all  that  a  something 
in  expression  that  made  the  young  face  look  strange  to  him; 
a  fateful  force  that  vibrated  through  her  voice  and  made 
her  words  slower,  firmer,  when  she  said: 

"The  man  is  to  live,  Henri;  he — the  man  you  would  kill 
for  wrong  that  is  not  his.  If  breath  had  gone  away  from  him 
always,  I,  "ftlouise,  would  have  let  you  go  to  your  grave  and 
heard  no  word  from  me;  but  now  I  say  to  you  the  deed 
was  wrong  which  you  did.  I  heard  your  words  together — 
some  of  them.  I  crept  there  when  you  looked  at  the  beads 
on  the  deer-skin.  The  man  who  is  there  has  suffered  much 
at  my  hand.  Why  should  you  too  hunt  him?  And  marry? 
When  did  you  ever  before  think  filouise  would  be  squaw 
for  the  white  men  who  climb  to  our  mountains?  While  you 
kill,  kill  two,  for  I  also  say  '  no  '  when  you  talk  of  marriage." 

"Then  you — filouise — have  no  love  in  your  thoughts?" 


^LOUISE.  223 

/ 

oegan  the  priest  in  troubled  wonder;  but  the  girl  uttered  a 
short,  hard  laugh. 

"  Ask  of  the  man  who  crept  to  this  peak  with  you,"  she 
returned,  grimly.  "  He  can  tell  you,  may  be,  what  love  I 
had." 

But  the  priest  did  not  understand;  his  eyes,  in  sad  scrutiny, 
wandered  from  her  face  to  her  bosom,  where  the  beak  of 
the  eagle  caught  his  Indian  eyes,  and  he  did  understand 
that. 

"Why?  "  he  demanded,  and  pointed  to  the  pagan  totem; 
"  and  the  cross?  " 

She  answered  only  by  a  passionate  upward  action  of  the 
hands;  what  use  were  words,  explanations,  now?  She 
walked  away  from  them  all,  and  seated  herself  at  the 
entrance  to  the  stone  dwelling  in  which  it  seemed  to  her 
she  had  lived  so  long  a  li,fe,  the  life  holding  both  hell  and 
paradise  in  its  span  of  one  summer.  The  work  they  had 
completed  together  lay  near  her  feet — the  fine  raiment  for 
the  lady,  so  dainty,  so  beautiful,  who  waited  down  there  in 
the  valley  for  its  completion,  for  the  worker  who  had 
wrought  it — well! 

She  heard  the  first  horrified  utterance  of  Dunbar  as  his 
voice  returned,  and  she  shivered,  crouching,  with  covered 
face. 

"You— you!"  he  was  saying,  and  grasped  at  Clevents' 
arm  to  assure  himself  it  was  no  disembodied  spirit  bending 
over  him.  "  Great  God!  how  is  this?  I  can't  see — " 

He  raised  on  his  elbow.  The  man  who  had  striven  to  kill 
him  stood  not  a  rod  away,  indifferent  and  superior  in  man- 
ner. The  serpent  still  showed  a  faint  motion  of  life  in  its 
quivering  length,  and  beyond  it  sat  someone  with  bowed 
head.  That  must  be  filouise;  yes,  filouise  come  back — 
filouise  grieving  for  his  hurts — his  eagle  that  was  yet  a 
dove  at  heart. 


224  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

But  from  the  rest  his  gaze  returned  to  that  other. 

"  You  are  not  dead — I  did  not  kill  you? "  and  Clevents 
answered  with  a  laugh  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  know  you  now,  old  fellow!  Why,  where  on  earth  and 
why  on  earth  have  you  been  hiding  out?  Well,  this  is  the 
unexpected!  I  never  dropped  to  it  that  it  was  your  face 
back  of  that  Rip  Van  Winkle  beard  until  you  spoke;  though 
you  puzzled  me,  too.  This  is  the  queerest  thing  I've  struck 
for  a  day  or  so." 

"And  you — didn't  die?"  Dunbar's  hand  passed  over 
his  forehead  confusedly.  "  I  feel  a  little  dizzy  and  crazy, 
I  thought  you  died." 

"  Same  to  you,"  returned  Clevents.  "  But  your  head 
must  be  out  of  order  if  you've  got  the  notion  in  it  that  you 
had  ever  killed  me.  You've  been  dreaming,  old  boy.  Why 
should  you  kill  me — and  where? " 

"That  night,  you  know,"  and  Dunbar  struggled  upward. 
"Isn't  it  true?  My  God!  isn't  it  true?  I've  thought 
myself  half-crazy  over  it — that  night  over  the  game — the 
night  you  drew  the  knife  on  me,  and  I  — " 

"I  never  drew  a  knife  on  you  in  my  life!"  asserted 
Clevents,  hotly. 

Dunbar  stared  at  him,  and  unbuttoned  the  breast  of  his 
shirt,  pushing  it  back.  On  his  throat  were  the  marks  of 
those  strong  priestly  fingers,  but  aside  from  them,  nearer 
the  shoulder,  was  the  fresh  scar. 

"  Then  who? " 

Clevents  looked  at  the  girl.  He  was  about  to  tell,  but 
the  sight  of  her  covered  head  checked  him. 

"  I've  nothing  more  to  say,"  he  said.  "  You're  alive,  and 
so  am  I;  that's  enough  to  think  of  just  now.  I  never  tried 
to  harm  you  that  I  know  of." 

"  But  filouise  said  — " 

He  looked  toward  her  hesitatingly,  but  did  not  finish 


ELOUISE.  225 

the  sentence.     She  had  heard.     She  arose  to  her  feet  and 
looked  Clevents  in  the  face. 

"  You  do  right,"  she  said,  briefly,  coldly.  "When  a  sin 
is  done,  its  own  mouth  must  confess.  I  lied  to  you,  to  him, 
to  everyone." 

"  No! "  broke  in  the  priest,  and  stepped  to  her  side.  "  It  is 
a  madness  that  is  speaking  in  her;  a  lie  she  never  did  tell. 
I  stand  witness." 

But  she  raised  her  hand  and  smiled  bitterly.  "  Not  in 
the  other  summers,  Henri;  no,  may  be  not.  All  is  changed. 
This  llllouise  who  speaks  you  never  knew.  I  led  him  away 
from  his  bed  in  the  valley.  I  builded  a  wall  of  lies  that 
held  him  prisoner  here  on  the  mountain.  I  have  made  him 
suffer  through  all  the  days  in  this  place  that  of  old  was 
made  for  peace.  His  heart  is  eaten  with  hunger  for  the 
people  there,"  and  she  pointed  to  the  valley,  "yet  he  dared 
not  go;  I  held  him." 

Dunbar  smiled  at  her  fondly,  wondering  what  she  meant. 
Even  yet  he  was  so  confused  by  their  many  words — their 
contradictions.  What  the  truth  of  it  all  was  he  did  not 
know,  but  he  trusted  filouise. 

"What  difference  about  our  life  here,"  he  asked,  kindly 
enough.  "  We  know  what  it  was;  that  is  past.  It  is  of  this 
I  asked,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  scar.  "  If  you  know  whose 
knife  left  that  mark,  and  whose  hand  drove  it,  tell  me." 

From  the  ground  she  picked  up  the  knife  he  had  seen 
her  use  daily  preparing  their  meals. 

"There  is  the  knife,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  and 
dropped  it  point  downward  on  the  rock  where  she  stood; 
"  and  here  is  the  hand." 

"  My  God!  no!"  uttered  Dunbar,  but  drawing  away  a  step 
as  he  said  it,  for,  meeting  her  eyes,  he  felt  she  did  not  lie. 
"You,  llllouise?" 

The  priest  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  perplexity. 
16 


226  SQUAW    t LOUISE. 

"  And  this — this  man  who  has  shared  your  home  is  the 
man  they  told  me  you  tried  to  kill  in  the  camp? "  he  asked. 

And  then  she  turned  from  Dunbar's  horror-stricken  gaze. 

"  It  is  so,"  she  said,  in  a  lifeless  sort  of  way.  "  He  was 
selling  me;"  and  the  priest  understood. 

"Well,  you  had  no  knife  ready  for  the  princess," 
observed  the  gambler.  "  Was  it  affection  held  you  in  check 
there? " 

She  looked  at  him  without  a  word,  but  back  of  the  dull 
pain  in  her  eyes  he  read  something  that  made  him  feel 
ashamed. 

"Don't  mind  me.  I'm  a  harmless  fool,  anyway,"  he  said, 
and  turned  to  Dunbar.  "Well,  I'll  tell  the  boys  you're 
alive,  Neil,  for  I'm  going  to  take  the  home  trail.  This 
seems  a  family  party,  and  I'm  out  of  it;  only," — and  he 
looked  at  the  girl — "  I  told  you  before  I  was  a  friend  of 
yours,  and  as  a  student  of  Indian  human  nature,  I'd  just 
like  to  know  if  this  scheme  of  yours  was  a  bit  of  Indian 
vengeance  in  a  new  dress?  " 

Dunbar  also  looked  at  her,  questioningly  and  coldly.  She 
noted  it,  and  answered: 

"Yes,  it  was  vengeance,  Indian  vengeance,  and  it  is 
done." 

Clevents  had  heard  of  an  Indian  proverb  saying,  "  The 
arrows  of  vengeance  poison  the  hand  of  the  warrior  who 
fits  them  to  the  bow,  unless  the  cause  be  sacred." 

He  thought  of  that  as  she  spoke.  She  looked  as  though 
the  poisoned  arrows,  rebounding,  had  touched  her  heart. 

"  See  here,"  he  said,  with  characteristic  abruptness,  "  I 
really  won  you  at  cards,  you  know,  and  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  something.  If  you're  treated  right  where  you  want  to 
stay,  I'm  out  of  it.  I  heard  you  say  awhile  ago  that  you 
didn't  want  to  marry  the  man  we  thought  you  meant  to," 
and  his  glance  wandered  to  Dunbar;  "  and  that's  all  right, 


ELOUISE. 

for  nothing  seems  to  be  what  we  expected  to  find  up  here 
— the  reverend  and  me.  But  if  you  ever  need  an  extra 
gun  to  back  you,  or  get  what's  your  due  out  of  this  planet, 
I'm  ready  to  turn  proprietor  again  and  square  things  for 
you.  You're  a  squaw,  but,  for  all  the  lies  you  own  up  to, 
I've  an  idea  there's  something  whiter  about  you  than  half 
the  ladies  who  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  me.  I'm 
done." 

The  priest  held  out  his  hand,  and  the  gambler,  after  one 
glance  at  his  face,  clasped  it.  Each  understood  that  either 
would  risk  considerable  to  win  content  for  the  strange, 
moody  child  who  strove  for  no  content  herself.  Yet 
neither  had  ever  accepted  a  favor  from  her;  and  a  little 
apart,  and  reading  their  thoughts,  stood  the  man  for  whom 
she  had  striven  much — for  whom  she  had  cared  through 
all  those  torturous  days  of  sickness,  and  who  felt  vaguely 
ashamed  of  his  own  judgment  of  her — of  his  common  sense 
— in  the  presence  of  those  two  sentimentalists. 

"Go  slowly,"  he  said  to  the  gambler,  "and  I'll  join  you 
— that  is  if  these  friends  of  yours  don't  try  to  massacre  me 
again." 

To  the  priest  he  had  given  no  word  or  glance;  but  the 
gambler  once  gone,  he  turned  his  eyes  shrinkingly,  yet 
reproachfully,  to  filouise. 

"  Is  it  all  true? "  he  asked.  "  Was  it  hate  made  you  cold 
to  me,  and  revenge  that  made  you  deceive  me?  And  he  said 
you  refused  to — " 

He  stopped,  and  a  great  wave  of  conscious  red  flushed 
his  face  as  he  met  her  eyes. 

For  many  suns  he  had  been  so  sure  she  adored  him, 
her  devotion  had  been  so  complete;  but  something  besides 
adoration  was  in  the  gaze  she  bent  on  him.  He  felt  its 
pride  and  its  irony.  He  felt  that  those  black  velvet  eyes 
read  every  impulse  that  made  him  draw  from  her;  made 


228  SQUAW  £LOUISE. 

him  frame  his  speech  to  her  with  a  canny  regard  for  the 
opinion  of  her  priestly  champion,  who  stood  so  near. 

She  had  called  him  "  master/'  and  had  served  him  as  a 
slave;  but,  with  the  knowledge  of  all  her  duplicity  in  his 
heart,  he  felt  that  she  had  risen  above  him,  beyond  him, 
when  she  spoke. 

"  He  said  I  refused  the  wish  to  be  wife  to  you,"  she  com- 
pleted; "  that  is  so.  My  kinsman  was  told  wrong.  He  did 
not  know  it  was  revenge  made  me  guard  you — so  he  came; 
but  he  knows  now,  and  you  need  fear  no  more,"  and  her 
tone  was  scornful.  "It  was  an  Indian  revenge — but  it  is 
done,  and  my  heart  is  tired.  Go!  " 

What  a  parting  after  those  love  pledges  of  the  morning 
— those  kisses  scarce  dead  on  his  lips!  The  memory  of 
them  touched  him. 

"  You  shall  go  too,"  he  began,  doubtfully;  but  she  shook 
her  head. 

"Never — now,"  she  answered,  lowly.  "Not  for  filouise 
will  the  flowers  grow  there  in  the  south  by  the  sea,  but  the 
picture  of  them  is  in  my  heart,  the  smell  of  them  will  live 
with  words  that  have  been  said;  that  is  enough.  Klahowya." 

"  ^llouise,  opitsah!  "  (sweetheart). 

"  Nah!  "  she  cried,  passionately,  throwing  out  her  hand 
as  though  the  sound  of  the  loved  word  hurt  her;  "  no 
more  opitsah!  Squaw  filouise,  slave  filouise,  only.  Hear! 
My  knife  sought  you;  my  tongue  lied  to  you;  you  know 
that — it  is  all  you  care  to  know  of  the  Indian.  You  have 
suffered.  Well,  I  will  send  you  pay,  may  be.  I  will  send 
from  down  there  where  the  whites  live  a  squaw  who  is  not 
an  Indian;  who  has  never  dug  roots  with  her  white  hands; 
who  has  never  had  to  fight  with  the  wolf  or  the  bear  for 
the  meat  she  eats;  who  has  never,  may  vbe,  lied  as  the 
Indian  lies,  and  whose  white  face  is  there  on  that  chain  of 
your  throat.  Yes,  it  is  she!  Find  her;  braid  in  her  hair 


^LOUISE.  229 

the  flowers  by  that  south  sea.  If  you  know  how  love  is,  I 
pay  you  for  the  knife,  for  the  cheat,  when  I  tell  you  she  is 
down  there.  She  waits  for  you — the  one  who  will  wear 
those  red  hearts  on  her  toes — the  one  they  call  the  Dell.' 

"Down  there!     Then  I  did  see  her — it  was  no  dream? ' 

"  No  dream;  all  the  rest  is,  may  be,  not  the  white  squavtf. 
When  the  new  days  come,  she  will  be  the  only  real  thing; 
the  days  left  here  will  be  the  times  of  the  evil  dreams." 

Her  voice,  faltering,  growing  tremulous,  made  him  check 
her  as  she  turned. 

"filouise,  I  don't  seem  to  know  you  now;  but  I  know 
this,  that  I  owe  you  for  your  good  care — for  your  nursing. 
Whatever  your  reasons,  you  seemed  my  good  angel  once. 
I  do  not  want  a  harsh  parting;  I  do  not  want  to  forget." 

She  picked  from  the  stone  floor  of  their  doorway  a  bit  of 
white  bark  fallen  there.  Only  the  day  before  he  had 
drawn  on  one  side  of  it  a  sketch  of  her  head,  and  touched 
it  with  his  lips,  jestingly,  when  she  herself  had  drawn  from 
his  caressing  arms. 

"But  you  will  forget,"  she  said,  not  looking  in  his  face. 

"But  I  owe  you — " 

"You  can  owe  me  not  anything — ever,"  and  she  turned 
blindly  up  toward  the  path  of  the  terrace  grotto,  where  so 
many  a  starlit  evening  had  found  them;  and  for  the  first 
time  he  made  no  attempt  to  follow  or  call  her  back. 

He  was  left  facing  the  tall,  somber-eyed  priest,  who  had 
listened  in  silence  to  their  words.  Whatever  he  thought 
was  locked  in  his  own  half-savage  breast.  But  the  words 
of  iClouise  had  been  plain;  the  sin  was  hers  alone.  This  man 
was  the  victim  of  her  revenge;  it  was  over,  and  he  must  be 
let  go  in  peace,  so  it  seemed;  and  however  his  instincts 
urged  him  to  do  battle  for  her,  he  pointed  with  an 
imperious  gesture  to  the  valley  below,  and  the  victim  of 
Indian  revenge  bowed  his  head  and  passed  out  of  sight. 


230  SQUAW   ^LOUISE. 

And  then  Henri  Mercier  turned  with  the  instincts  of  a 
hunter  toward  the  trail  of  her  feet;  and  up  there  she 
crouched  by  the  stone  altar,  and  felt  the  touch  of  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder. 

"  My  daughter — filouise!    Child— 

"  No,  not  now,  Henri;  that  child  you  did  know  has  died 
— is  dead — aei!  " 

And  up  the  heights  shivered  a  moan  for  the  child-life  he 
had  known — for  the  heart  of  the  woman  broken  by  its 
death — and  he  who  had  uttered  solace  over  many  graves 
was  struck  dumb  beside  this  one. 

All  that  night  —  the  most  memorable  of  his  life  —  he 
never  left  her.  From  some  misery  known  only  to  his  own 
heart,  words  at  last  arose  to  his  lips,  and  his  speech  forced 
her  to  listen.  With  his  own  hands  he  unclasped  that  pagan 
symbol  from  her  breast  and  replaced  it  with  the  cross 
drifted  to  his  feet  on  the  flood,  and  looking  at  her  in  the 
wan  starlight,  that  change  alone  seemed  to  bring  her  closer 
to  him  in  the  bonds  of  their  once  mutual  faith. 

The  dawn  drove  the  night  onward,  and  the  birds  were 
calling  each  other  awake  in  the  wilderness  below,  when  he 
led  her,  unresisting,  down  to  the  doorway  of  her  dwelling. 

'.'  Rest  a  little  until  I  bring  for  you  food,"  he  said,  gently. 
"Then  we  will  go,  you  and  I,  far,  where  the  churches  are; 
where  your  days  will  be  days  of  prayer  and  help  to  others. 
So  only  will  your  wounds  be  healed  of  the  sin  you  have 
thought  and  done.  I  will  not  be  long.  You  will  remember 
your  promise?  " 

She  looked  up  blankly  into  his  anxious  face.  "  The 
promise? "  she  said. 

"  The  promise  for  your  life." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  assented,  bitterly.  "  I  promised  not  to 
kill  myself.  Well,  I  broke  another  promise  to  make  that 
to  you.  But,  if  you  want  it — well!  " 


^LOUISE.  231 

"  But  you  promised? " 

"Why  should  you  give  thought  to  that? "  she  asked,  but 
without  interest.  "  I  said  no  word  to  you  of  my  wish.  But 
I  promised.  Go,  if  you  like.  I  will  seek  no  death;  but  if 
it  comes,  I  will  not  step  aside  from  the  trail." 

He  laid  his  hands  on  her  head,  hands  trembling  with  the 
weight  of  his  love  and  his  fear  for  her;  and,  blessing  her 
silently,  left  for  the  pool  where  the  fish  are. 

She  looked  after  him,  and  kissed  the  cross  he  had  laid  on 
her  breast.  He  was  so  good;  the  saints  in  heaven  could 
not  be  better,  she  thought,  than  was  Henri  Mercier  to  her. 
The  saints  take  care  of  their  own  souls,  but  he  would  have 
lost  his  for  her  by  that  murder. 

She  did  not  know  why  he  should  be  so  kind;  she  had 
never  been  so  kind  to  him.  She  seemed  yet  to  feel  his  lips 
on  her  hands,  as  he  had  prayed  with  her  and  for  her 
through  the  night.  Yes,  Henri  was  a  good  priest. 

She  told  herself  that  over  and  over.  It  was  only  Henri 
and  his  church  she  spoke  of,  as  she  lay  there  through  his 
absence,  striving  to  crowd  out  all  other  memories,  all  other 
faces. 

But  she  could  not;  and,  suddenly  flinging  herself  face 
downward,  in  utter  abandonment  of  despair,  she  moaned, 
tearlessly.  What  use  to  try  to  deceive  herself  as  she 
deceived  Henri?  She  could  not.  The  cross  on  her  breast 
could  not  blot  out  that  vow  to  Manitou.  Her  soul  had 
been  sold — traded  to  the  Great  Spirit  for  his  life  and  his 
faith.  That  was  done,  and  Henri  did  not  know;  he  never 
would  know.  She  must  act  a  lie  to  him  forever,  if  she 
lived;  and  death  would  be  better — better. 

She  raised  her  face  on  her  hands,  and  lay  there  in  the 
dim  dawn  with  a  wonder  in  her  heathenish  heart  as  to  why 
it  was  so  evil  a  thing  to  stop  the  breath  of  the  body  when 
every  breath  was  a  prolongation  of  pain.  When  love  dies, 


232  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

what  is  left  to  live  for?  The  beauty  in  the  soul  dies; 
the  true  life-beat  of  the  heart  dies;  and  if  the  steel  or  the 
arrow  stops  entirely  its  aching  efforts,  what  then?  The 
real  life  is  dead — is  dead! 

Something  moved  under  the  deer-skin  dress  lying  there 
in  the  gray  dusk.  It  was  within  reach  of  her  hand,  and, 
without  moving  from  where  she  lay,  she  brushed  aside  the 
fringed  skirt  and  touched  a  living  black  body.  In  an 
instant  its  crested  head  darted  forward  and  sunk  its  curved 
lances  of  death  into  the  open  palm  of  her  hand. 

It  was  the  mate  of  the  reptile  whose  life  Dunbar  had 
ended.  It  had  followed  to  that  height  for  its  vengeance. 

She  shook  it  loose,  but  raised  her  hand  high  as  her  head 
to  do  it,  it  clung  so;  and  then  she  did  not  heed  where  it 
moved  to.  An  electric  shock  seemed  tingling  from  that 
hand  through  all  her  veins;  flashes  of  heat  and  cold  shiv- 
ering over  her  until  even  the  gray  walls  she  could  touch, 
and  the  crimson  heart  on  that  moccasin,  faded  far  away 
from  her,  barely  visible  in  the  half-light. 

"  I  did  not  go  to  death,  Henri,"  she  protested,  feebly — 
"it  hunted  me;  and  it  is  good."  Tinkling  bells  sounded 
in  her  ears  and  shut  out  the  sounds  of  the  bird-calls. 
Strangely  enough,  they  seemed  to  echo  the  words  of  that 
song  she  had  sung  and  forgotten.  Yes,  they  came  to  her 
ears  clearly — 

"  Heart-snows  are  nigh 
When  love's  bright  leaves  fall; 
And  they  fall, 
And  they  fall 
On  the  grave  of  my  dead; 
On  the  grave 
Of  a  life 
That  is  dead,  that  is  dead." 

She  tried  to  repeat  the  words  in  song  as  they  came  back 


ON    THUNDER   MOUNTAIN.  233 

w  her,  but  it  was  only  the  whisper  of  music  that  she 
uttered;  a  dimness  of  all  things  in  sound  or  sense  seemed 
closing  around  her,  and  she  even  smiled  her  content  at  it. 
"  It  is  good  to  sing  as  the  true  singers  sing,"  she  said,  as 
to  someone  who  was  listening — "to  sing  true,  and — die  ere 
the  false  songs  come  to  the  heart.  That  is  best,  Henri. 
Love  is  like  that — love — Aei!  the  cross!  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ON    THUNDER    MOUNTAIN. 

THE  dew  yet  lay  in  the  shadowy  places  when  Redney 
reached  the  summit  of  Thunder  Mountain,  and  halted  to 
look  back,  with  the  bitterness  of  contempt  on  his  young- 
face. 

"They  are  all  alike — the  cursed  whites!"  he  told  him- 
self; "kind  and  false.  If  he  knew  how  her  hand  shook, 
and  how  her  cheek  flushed  when  I  touched  her,  would  he 
have  knelt  there  beside  her  as  I  saw  them  last  night?  And 
if  she  knew  all,  would  she  think  his  rescue  by  some  Indians 
was  such  a  romantic  thing,  and  be  so  anxious  to  start  with 
him  at  once  for  the  south  country?  May  be.  They'll  go  on 
all  their  lives  like  that,  I  s'pose,  cheating  each  other,  and 
stealing  sweet  words  to  whoever  comes  handy.  ^Ilouise 
couldn't  have  been  like  that  if  she  tried.  She  was  a  fool, 
but  she  was  honest;  and  it's  just  the  honest  fools  that  get 
left,  like  abandoned  claims,  whether  it's  on  the  mountains 
or  in  the  camps." 

He  started  on,  picking  his  way  through  the  scrub-brush. 


234  SQUAW    ^LOUISE. 

He  had  never  yet  followed  her  up  there,  or  seen  exactly  the 
home  they  had  shared;  but  he  remembered  the  location  by 
that  visit  of  Miss  Delia's  to  the  edge  of  the  terraced  rock. 
He  blamed  himself  passionately  for  not  telling  in  the  very 
beginning  who  the  man  was  abiding  there.  If  he  had 
guessed  how  it  would  end  — 

Two  people  back  in  that  camp  he  felt  blue  at  leaving 
that  morning;  they  were  Milt  and  Clevents,  who  had  called 
"  Klahowya!"  after  him,  but  with  no  idea  in  their  minds 
that  High-Low  would  know  him  no  more.  He  told  him- 
self that  the  rest  down  there  he  hated,  and  hated,  and 
hated!  Not  the  baby,  of  course,  for  the  tears  were  in  his 
eyes  as  he  kissed  it;  and  when  good  Mrs.  Nannie  laid  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder  with  a  touch  like  a  caress,  he  had 
fairly  run  from  her.  But  the  rest  he  knew  he  hated.  He 
was  going  up  on  the  mountain;  he  would  find  iSlouise  and 
take  her  far  away  toward  the  south,  where  the  Indians  of 
the  churches  and  the  schools  lived.  There  they  would  live, 
out  of  the  sight  of  the  white  aristocrats,  who  bring  only  sor- 
rows to  Indian  hearts.  All  the  wealth  of  their  gold  should 
never  bind  him  to  their  service  again. 

So  he  told  himself,  so  he  would  tell  filouise  when  he 
found  her. 

But  he  found  first  the  strange  dark  snake,  dead  since  the 
day  before,  and  a  little  farther  on,  the  headless  body  of  its 
mate,  that  showed  a  faint  motion  when  his  foot  touched  it. 
Its  head,  as  though  twisted  from  its  body,  lay  near,  and, 
startled  at  the  sight,  he  turned  quickly  around  looking  for 
the  girl. 

And  in  the  shadow  of  the  ancient  dwelling  he  found  her, 
sleeping  the  death-sleep  for  which  the  serpent  had  given 
the  potion — the  serpent  whose  kiss  had  proven  more  merci- 
ful than  that  of  love. 

And  her  resting-place  was  the  arms  of  the  Indian  priest, 


ON   THUNDER   MOUNTAIN.  235 

who  bent  his  dark  face  over  hers,  saying  Latin  prayers, 
may  be;  anyway,  he  was  speaking  in  the  softest  murmur  of 
tones,  and  if  he  had  not  been  a  priest,  Redney  would  have 
simply  thought  he  was  talking  in  some  unknown  tongue  to 
the  dead  girl,  often  waiting  as  if  for  replies,  and  then  con- 
tinuing the  tender  monotone. 

At  first  glance  the  boy  thought  he  had  something  of  white 
bound  about  his  head;  but  when  he  heard  the  voice  of  the 
new-comer,  and  arose  to  his  feet  with  her  form  clasped  close, 
Redney  saw  that  his  hair  was  snow-white. 

"She  is  mine  now,"  he  said.  "Go  follow  the  trail  the 
others  have  left.  I  will  find  her  a  bed  where  the  eagles 
nest.  She  belongs  to  them — they  knew  it  long  ago.  She 
is  gone  from  your  life.  She  is  mine  now." 

At  the  first  words,  low,  intense,  the  boy  feared  he  was 
mad,  and  the  startling  change  in  his  appearance — that  white 
crown  above  the  dark  face — strengthened  the  idea.  But  the 
tenderness  of  his  speech  to  her  moved  him  to  sympathy, 
and  he  walked  to  them  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  dead 
breast. 

"She  is  mine  too,  father,"  and  despite  himself  his  voice 
trembled  at  the  tardy  avowal.  "She  was  my  sister." 

"Her  mother  had  no  other  child." 

"  But  her  father  had.  I  never  told  her — I'm  sorry  now; 
but  she  was  my  sister." 

"Sister — so  she  was  to  me,"  the  priest  murmured,  sadly; 
"sister,  child,  and  companion — so  she  should  always  have 
been.  But  it  is  over  now.  You  are  her  kinsman;  you 
then  may  see  where  her  grave  is  made." 

His  low-toned  words  and  strangely  impressive  tones  awed 
Redney,  who  had  never  before  stood  in  awe  of  anything 
human.  Obediently  he  followed,  while  the  priest  alone 
carried  dead  filouise  up  to  the  grotto  on  the  heights. 

The  bench  of  stone  served  as  her  couch,  where  she  lay 


236  SQUAW  ^LOUISE. 

facing  the  south — that  land  of  the  wished-for  life!  Had  she 
chosen,  it  must  surely  have  been  for  that  resting-place. 

For  the  first  time  in  Redney's  life  he  knelt  in  the  prayer 
for  the  dead,  and  heard  an  anthem  of  the  holy  church,  as 
Father  Henri's  voice  rolled  out  and  upward  in  music  he  and 
FJlouise  had  sung  together  in  the  old  days  when  their  hearts 
were  as  the  hearts  of  children. 

And  then  the  two  labored  there  on  the  summit  while  the 
sun  dropped  down  and  down  to  the  very  edge  of  their  world, 
and  its  last  beams  lit  the  face  of  a  tomb  walled  up  where 
the  grotto  had  looked  out  over  the  far  green  lands  and 
silver-hued  glaciers.  A  mound  of  stone  in  the  form  of  a 
cross  blocks  the  shelf  in  front  of  it.  It  is  the  only  guard 
of  her  tomb. 

And  beside  it  the  priest  turned  to  the  boy.  "  We  part 
here.  I  go  to  the  west,  where  the  red  death  is— and  you? " 

"  Wherever  I  can  get  away  from  the  faces  of  white  people; 
I'm  tired  of  the  camps.  If  you  would  need  me — ' 

"You  are  her  kinsman;  if  you  wish,  come." 

And  so  they  descended  together  to  the  valley  and  walked 
without  separating  toward  the  west. 

Once  as  they  crossed  a  stream  where  the  water  was  as  a 
mirror,  the  youth  touched  the  priest's  arm  and  pointed  to 
the  reflection  of  the  hair  whitened  that  one  morning. 

"It  is  the  hand  of  God,"  he  said.  "  I  carried  evil  in  my 
heart,  and  was  a  priest;  hidden  evil  that  my  own  eyes  could 
not  see.  Then  in  one  hour  it  was  made  plain  to  me.  I  had 
sinned.  The  mark  is  .left  to  show  I  suffered.  My  life  is 
left  to  make  atonement." 


BACK   TO   THE   WORLD.  237 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

BACK    TO    THE    WORLD. 

No  one  wondered,  least  of  all  his  fiancee,  that  Dunbar 
was  anxious  to  leave  the  scenes  where  his  health  had — he 
said — been  broken  by  sickness.  He  was  asked  remarkably 
few  questions  of  his  absence,  except  by  Delia,  and  the 
forty-eight  hours  from  his  return  until  they  left  High-Low 
together  was  a  state  of  blissful  content  in  all  things  to  her. 
The  summer  had  brought  her  a  bona-fide  romance  of  her 
own,  and  it  circled  about  Dunbar  as  a  halo.  He  was  her 
Prince  Charming,  as  he  had  been  in  her  childish  days. 
Everything  had  turned  out  just  as  she  hoped,  and  the  wed- 
ding was  to  be  at  once.  The  last  birthday  of  her  maiden- 
hood was  over — the  ninsteenth,  for  which  they  had  waited. 

All  High-Low  was  on  the  banks  as  their  canoes  were 
pushed  off.  Dunbar  looked  a  little  pale  and  quiet,  espe- 
cially pale  when  Mr.  Clevents,  after  shaking  hands  heartily 
with  Miss  Raeforth,  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  did  not 
offer  it  to  the  groom-elect.  They  looked  at  each  other, 
but  said  nothing. 

"  Kind  o'  bleached,  ain't  he? "  remarked  one  of  the  men, 
as  the  canoes  left  the  shore,  and  Mr.  Collins,  who  stood 
near,  grinned. 

"Not  near  so  bleached  as  he  looked  and  made  me  feel 
last  night,"  he  answered.  "  It  was  moonlight,  you  know,  an' 
he  was  comin'  down  off  the  mountain  a  tearin';  and  white! 
he'll  never  be  whiter  when  he's  dead,  and  you'd  better 
believe  I  was  scared.  It's  my  notion  that  cut  has  left  him 
loony." 


238  SQUAW    ^LOUISE. 

"  What  mountain  was  he  on?  "  asked  Mr.  Clevents,  and 
smiled  without  mirth  when  the  man  answered: 

"Why,  up  on  old  Thunder,  where  there  ain't  any  business 
to  take  anyone,  'specially  at  night." 

"Well,  loony  or  not,  he's  in  luck,  anyway." 

And  the  man  who  was  in  luck  skimmed  with  his  sweet- 
heart over  the  proud  bosom  of  the  Columbia,  and  watched 
with  tender  eyes  the  childish  beauty  of  her  face,  and  told 
her  truth  and  lies  in  those  judicious  installments  known  and 
practiced  of  all  men  under  like  interesting  circumstances, 
all  the  while  keeping  his  face  turned  down  the  river,  the 
way  of  their  future,  and  the  place  of  their  wedding. 

A  bundle  lay  at  the  girl's  feet,  and  remembering  Mr. 
Clevents  had  placed  it  there,  telling  her  it  was  a  souvenir 
of  the  Selkirks,  she  opened  it  eagerly,  and  laughed  with 
delight. 

"  My  Indian  dress!  Oh,  Neil,  isn't  it  lovely?  And  the  moc- 
casins, look  at  them!  I  never  hoped  to  see  them  when 
they  told  me  that  priest  had  taken  the  little  squaw 
away.  How  kind  of  Mr.  Clevents,  and  I  do  wonder  how 
he  got  them.  I  asked  Redney  about  them,  and  he  just 
walked  away  and  I  never  got  sight  of  him  again — he  was 
so  queer  sometimes.  Well,  I  wanted  that  pretty  Indian 
girl  to  take  East,  but,  as  I  can't  get  her,  I'm  satisfied  to 
have  these,  and  they  are  beauties;  don't  you  think  so? 
Look  at  the  pretty  red  hearts  on  the  moccasins." 

She  put  them  in  his  hands,  and  he  did  not  know  what  he 
replied.  He  held  them,  and  assented  to  the  beauties  she 
found  in  them,  but  saw  more  than  she  did.  He  saw  the  one 
border  of  beads  he  had  been  allowed  to  sew  on,  and  it  was 
crooked;  he  saw  a  little  mark  where  a  drop  of  blood  had 
fallen  from  the  finger  of  filouise  and  stained  the  white 
leather;  he  saw  the  border  of  fringe  he  had  cut  as  her  pupil; 
he  saw — was  he  to  see  these  on  the  feet  of  his  wife  and 


BACK    TO    THE    WORLD.  239 

listen  over  and  over  to  her  light-hearted  chatter  of  them? 
His  hand  dropped  over  the  edge  of  the  canoe,  when  Delia 
caught  it. 

"Why,  Neil!  I  would  not  have  them  wet  for  anything. 
You  silly  boy,  did  you  think  they  needed  stretching?  Give 
them  to  me,  and  tell  me  some  Indian  stories  of  the  river  or 
mountains.  Don't  you  know  any — not  even  a  canoe- 
song?  " 

A  canoe-song!  What  was  that  song  sung  that  night  on 
the  heights,  the  song  of  the  boat  that  should  bear  him 
away?  He  told  himself  he  must  get  over  this  weakness  that 
came  with  memory.  He  would  try  and  repeat  it. 

"  The  boat  is  built, 

And  the  water  sings 
To  you.     Dear  heart,  good-by! 
It  will  bear  you  far, 

On  its  tireless  wings, 
From  me.     Good-by!     good-by!" 

"Oh,  Neil,  how  sad  that  air  is!"  breathed  his  little 
sweetheart,  and  slipped  her  hand  into  his. 

And  then  from  the  high  wall  of  green  above  them  the 
wide-spread  wings  of  an  eagle  beat  the  air,  darting  toward 
the  water  for  an  instant,  and  then  changing  its  course  sailed 
over  their  heads,  with  the  wild  call  that  is  so  startling  when 
it  comes  close. 

And  it  had  surely  startled  Dunbar,  for  his  face  grew  very 
white;  his  hands  were  trembling. 

"  It  was  only  an  eagle,"  he  assured  the  girl,  who  heeded 
it  the  least  of  the  two;  and  then  he  turned  nervously  to  the 
oarsmen. 

"  Row  faster — faster,  can't  you,  and  get  us  out  of  this 
wilderness;  we  are  barely  creeping  along." 

The  men  smiled  at  each  other — it  was  so  natural  for  the 
road  to  seem  long  when  a  man  goes  to  his  wedding;  and 


24C  SQUAW    ^LOUISE. 

they  dipped  the  paddles  in  the  singing  wate*j   and  darted 
downward  as  if  indeed  borne  on  wings. 

And  high  up  over  the  wilderness  the  call  of  the  eagle 
sounded — Ai-ee!  ai-cc!  and  then  drifted  into  silence. 


THE  END. 


A     000129053     5 


